


Out of Place

by icarusninja23



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Slow Burn (kinda), Updates Monthly, and the lack of MELLINGER is just ridiculous, i started this fic original over a YEAR ago and the lack of jake-centric fics has only gotten worse, parental neglect, smh guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-07-03 06:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15813000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusninja23/pseuds/icarusninja23
Summary: Jake seemed to feel out of place no matter where he was.He wasn't sure when it started, really. He'd felt out of place in his parents' enormous house, vacant, aside from him and his cat. He felt out of place in the condo, like it wasn't his space to take up; like he didn't belong there. He felt out of place in his friend group, even, with Jeremy's sudden recruitment and now Rich's absence.He did not, however, feel out of place on Michael Mell's couch.How he got there was a bit complicated.





	1. Familiar Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> hey everybody long time no post! so yeah this is a rewrite of a fic that i kinda abandoned a year ago. i still really LOVED the concept behind it, so i couldn't just leave it dead like that! you know who i am, i'm jake dillinger's 3rd biggest fan!!  
> but yeah again, like last time, i'm applying my own bmc timeline here so:  
> 1\. the musical starts in late september  
> 2\. "upgrade" happens literally the next day after jere gets the squip  
> 3\. "the play" happens in early november  
> 4\. whole thing takes place in 2018

Deep down, Jake knew jumping from the window was a bad idea.

The height alone would mean a rough fall, that much was _certain_. And the hedges underneath wouldn't be much cushion. Plus, with the extra weight of Rich over his shoulder, it was a given that things would _not_ turn out well.

But when he ran into his room and saw his best friend lying there, a box of matches and an empty gasoline can next to him, and watched as the flames spread to the door, and felt the scorching heat on his back, the _bad_ idea suddenly became the _best_ idea because it was his _only idea_.

And so, he grabbed Rich and jumped.

And immediately regretted it.

The first thing he noticed was that the jump didn't get him too far from the house. He'd made it over the hedges ( _nice_ ), but it was still far too close for comfort ( _not nice_ ). He needed to move.

The second thing he noticed was that he couldn't move. _At all_. Both of his legs had gone numb, which was _definitely not ideal_ , and his right arm was pinned under Rich. His left arm, though he could still move it, wasn't strong enough to get the two of them very far without further injury.

But he saw the flames engulf the hedges, and he tried anyway, managing a few good inches until pain overpowered him. He tried to yell for help, but only managed a cough which wracked his entire body. He looked up, but the combination of heat and smoke stung his eyes. Closing them again, Jake was faced with a horrifying reality:

 _He was going to die_.

He was going to die and so was Rich. And his house was going to burn down, and his car was going to get destroyed, and his _parents—_

Well, thinking it over, Jake wasn't sure if his parents would even notice.

Engulfed in his thoughts, Jake didn't notice the approaching footsteps until they'd ended up right next to him. He felt a weight lifted off his shoulders, literally, as the whoever had walked up to him picked Rich up. The footsteps got quieter, barely audible underneath the roaring flames, then stopped, then returned.

A hand grabbed Jake's shoulder. He winced, and heard a gasp.

" _Shit_ , sorry," a voice above him said. Jake couldn't place it. "I thought you were passed out."

 _I wish I was_ , Jake caught himself thinking.

The stranger kneeled down next to him. "Are you okay?" they asked.

 _"I'm fine,"_ was what Jake wanted to say, but he'd hardly gotten through the first word before devolving into a painful coughing fit.

It passed, then the stranger asked, "Can you stand up?"

Jake nodded assuredly, but struggled to get to his knees. He looked at the stranger and realized that they truly were just that – a _stranger_. Jake swore he'd never seen this person in his life. ( _How'd they end up at my party?_ he asked himself). The stranger was tall-ish (not as tall as Jake, but nobody is), and wore a black sweatshirt with what looked like "REEP" written on the chest in bright green block letters. _REEP? The hell does that mean?_ If Jake had been more perceptive, he would have noticed the "C" and "S" on the sleeves. Altogether, the shirt said, "CREEPS." The stranger was Jake's age, and they had dark hair, dark skin, and brown-rimmed glasses with cracks in the lenses. They stared back at Jake with an odd expression; it was a strange combination of concern and fear that Jake found impossible to read clearly. The stranger hesitantly offered Jake a hand and pulled him upright.

Immediately after the stranger let go, Jake felt his legs go out from under him. He grabbed onto the stranger to stop himself, wrapping his arms around their shoulders like a vice. The stranger, in turn, put an arm around Jake's waist to hold him up, whispering an almost-inaudible, " _God, you're heavy,_ " as they led Jake to the fence and away from the flames.

"Where's Rich?" Jake asked, then broke out into another coughing fit.

It, too, passed, then, "I—uh—" The stranger sucked in a breath. "He's fine. He'll be fine. There's an ambulance coming for him." Their tone was unconvincing.

Jake took a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the thoughts bubbling up into his mind and focus on something else— _anything_ else.

He took the next step a bit too hard and whimpered. "I think I broke something," he stated, though it came out as more of a raspy whisper.

"That's what happens when you jump out a window." The stranger looked at him, hesitating over their next words. "Do you want me to drive you to the hospital? No offense, but you look and sound like—uh—really bad. And my car's right over there." They pointed at an orange blob off in the distance, and Jake blinked a few times but couldn't quite make out what it was supposed to be.

Jake glanced between the blob and the fire and the cluster of partygoers on the other side of his lawn. He could go wait with them for the ambulance, but, honestly, he didn't want to deal with that. Their questions, comments, whatever – he'd rather take his chances with the stranger in the weird shirt.

He nodded. "But, uh, I gotta ask you something first."

"Yeah?"

"Who the fuck _are_ you?"

\---

"Michael Mell," the stranger had said, in a rather offended tone, before leading Jake to the front seat of a beat-up PT Cruiser.

The car ride to the hospital was painfully quiet. The radio had started playing with the turn of the key, but Michael quickly shut it off. Jake felt like he was at a loss for words – something _very_ unusual for him. He kept staring at the stranger – _Michael Mell_ – wondering why he didn't recognize him. _Blurry vision, perhaps._ He _was_ still pretty drunk, and even miles away from the house, smoke still seemed to cloud his vision. _Maybe he's new?_ Jake considered, but immediately dismissed it. _No, that's not it_. The name "Michael Mell" sounded familiar, but he couldn't pinpoint where he'd heard it. _Do I have any classes with him? Maybe I did last year, and he just looks a lot different now._ Jake nodded to himself, seemingly content with that answer. Although, in the back of his mind, he knew it wasn't correct.

The ride lasted hardly ten minutes, Michael glancing over to Jake every once in a while. The two maintained the awkward silence, however, until they reached the ER parking lot.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Michael asked, hand hovering over the key.

Jake nodded.

"Did you see Jeremy leave the party? Jeremy _Heere_." Michael almost immediately stuttered out more clarification. "It's not—I'm not trying to be weird or anything I'm just worried about him and I wanna make sure he's okay."

Jake thought back to the party. The last time he'd seen Jeremy, he was running off into the bathroom to get away from him after Jake had punched through the window to his parents' room in a drunken stupor. (He touched his hand then instinctively pulled it back, feeling a painful sting. He looked down at it, the large gash in the back of his hand was still coated with blood.)  And last time he'd seen that bathroom, it was occupied by some crying wreck.

"I didn't see him leave, but I checked to make sure there was nobody in the house during the fire, so I don't know," Jake answered. "I think he might've left before."

"Oh," Michael shrugged. "Good to know." And he turned the car off and opened his door.

And that was all.

\---

Jake wasn't quite sure what to expect when he came back to school. His stay at the hospital hadn't been too long, and they'd unceremoniously sent him off with two casts on his legs, stitches in right hand, and a cream with a weird name that was supposed to help ease the surprisingly few burns he'd managed to sustain.

Where they'd sent him off to was, at the very least, a step up from the hospital. A third-floor condo with one bedroom, one bathroom, and a living room connected to a tiny kitchen that Jake didn't want to set foot in. The size didn't really matter, it wasn't as if Jake had anything he needed the space for (Although, his cat was sure to miss all of her climbing shelves). His uncle owned it, which luckily meant no rent.

At least it was close to the school.

 _Right, school_.

Jake wasn't too sure what to make of that. He knew he'd be out of most extracurriculars – no sports, with his broken legs, and the academic teams didn't have anything going on. That only really left him with drama club.

And, well, _class._

His first day back had been going quite well. His teachers supplied him with all the work he missed, his classmates asked him how he was doing – everything seemed pretty normal, considering the circumstances. That is, until he made it to fourth period biology.

Jake's regular biology teacher had, allegedly, come up with a case of "didn't-feel-like-showing-up-itis," so there was a substitute. When the bell rang, and everyone sat down, the sub passed out a worksheet and began calling roll.

The usual suspects were all there: Madeline was there, as was Jake, and Rich—

The sub called Rich's name three times, subtle yet _very_ audible snickers echoing in the room before Jake finally piped up with a, "He's not here," which hushed the peanut gallery. Jake didn't want to know why they were laughing. There wasn't any humor to be found in his or Rich's situations.

Jeremy's name next, and even the sound of his irritatingly suave voice saying "present" made Jake's skin crawl.

Then—

"Michael?"

Someone in the back gave a quiet "here," and Jake turned around. Sitting in the back row, absentmindedly filling out the worksheet, was the person who had saved him only a few days prior. _He's in my class?_ _How did I not recognize him at the party?_

The sub finished roll and Jake tried to focus on his worksheet, but he couldn't help but notice how _quiet_ things felt. Usually, Rich would've made some sort of shitty science joke, and told him about whichever girl he was dating that week. _I swear, he goes through girls even faster than_ I _do._ Jake chuckled to himself, then looked over to the empty seat next to him, sighing. He went back to the paper, even though he really had no idea what any of the answers were – _Christ, did they cover a whole_ unit _while I was gone?_

Tapping his pencil on the desk, Jake diverted his focus to Jeremy, helping Jenna with the worksheet. Okay, so maybe Jake kinda didn't like Jeremy. Maybe he _really_ kinda didn't like Jeremy. Maybe he really kinda _hated_ Jeremy. Nevertheless, a part of him was glad to see that he was okay after the Halloween party. Or, at least, okay enough to _look_ okay.

But, still, this was _weird_. Wasn't it a few weeks ago that Jenna had posted a mocking video of Jeremy's freak-out at the mall? When did she become so buddy-buddy with him? Or, _god_ , "buddy-buddy" might've been too light of a term. It was like she couldn’t get enough of him. First Brooke, then Chloe, now _Jenna_? _When did Jeremy Heere become such a chick magnet?_

"It's weird, right?" Jake suddenly noticed someone on his left, in Rich's empty seat. A student in a crimson red hoodie – Michael Mell. "A few weeks ago those two wouldn't even look at each other."

Jake tried to play it off, as if the guy _didn't_ just read his mind like that. "Who? Jeremy? I didn't even notice."

Michael rolled his eyes and sat down. "You say that like you _weren't_ obviously staring at him. It's fine, I can hardly believe it either."

Jake raised an eyebrow. "You know Jeremy Heere?" _Why did I ask that? Of_ course _he knows Jeremy. He talked about him in the car._

Michael nodded. "He's not even good at science. He used to copy off my homework all the time." Jake couldn't help but notice a bitterness in his tone. "Speaking of copying." He slid a few sheets of paper over to Jake. "You can copy my notes, if you want. Since you – uh – you haven't been here."

Jake looked at the papers. The handwriting and formatting was far neater than Rich's. It was nice being able to copy off notes he could actually comprehend. He looked back up to Michael. "Thanks."

"If you don't want it, then—" He cut himself off, realization hitting him. "Oh, uh—It's no problem."

Jake half-smiled and looked through the notes, using them to fill out the worksheet. Michael stayed next to him, awkwardly scrolling through his phone to avoid eye contact.

Some time passed of nothing substantial. The same awkward silence that had plagued the two of them on Halloween had reared its ugly head once again. But the silence was broken by a new voice, appearing on Jake's right – _Chloe_.

"Hey, Jakey," she greeted, setting her hand on Jake's paper, obscuring the question he was in the middle of answering.

Jake was a bit caught off guard, so focused on his work that he hadn't even noticed her approach.

"How are you?" she asked, leaning closer to Jake. "I heard all about what happened. You must feel _terrible_."

"Yeah, it sucks," Jake responded vacantly. "Y'know, I don't really wanna—"

"—talk about it," Chloe finished for him. "I get it. You must be going through a lot. I couldn't even _imagine_ how I'd feel if that happened to me." She sounded genuine, but Jake really just wanted her to stop talking. He didn't need any more reminders of what happened, much less a two-person-pity-party from one of his best friends. Luckily, she dropped it. "I'm just glad you're okay. Do you need any help with the—"

"Nah, it's cool," Jake blurted out. "Uh, Michael let me borrow his notes, and he's helping me out, so, yeah."

Jake couldn't help but notice Michael shrink back at the mention of his name. He didn't look up from his phone.

"O- _kay_ ," Chloe shrugged, looking down at Michael. "See you later, I guess."

"See you later," Jake said, waving her off.

Chloe went back to her table, and he went back to the paper. He wrapped up the last few questions, the clock tick-tick-ticking away as he moved on to writing the notes. He slid through copying the first page, no problem, but once he reached the second—

A loud beep cut him off. The warning bell, notifying that there were two minutes left of class. For Jake and his busted legs, that meant it was time to go.

"Hey, Michael," Jake said, packing up his stuff as the sub asked the class to hand back their papers. "Is it cool if I give these back tomorrow?" He flashed the notes.

Michael nodded. "Yeah, you're good. I don't need them. Science is, like, my best class."

"I suck _ass_ in science, dude." Jake chuckled, lightly punching Michael's arm; he winced. "Hey, maybe you could tutor me."

Michael laughed halfheartedly in response, his eyes somewhere else. "Maybe."

Jake slung his bag over his shoulder and stood up with his crutches. "Well, I'll see you later!" He shot Michael a smile before heading out of the classroom.

The smile was not returned.


	2. (And Jeremy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake feels like his friends are ignoring him, so he makes a new one.

Jake seemed to feel out of place no matter where he was.

He wasn't sure when it started, really. He'd felt out of place in his parents' enormous house, vacant, aside from him and his cat. He felt out of place in the condo, like it wasn't his space to take up; like he didn't belong there. He felt out of place in his friend group, even, with Jeremy's sudden recruitment and now Rich's absence.

He did _not_ , however, feel out of place on Michael Mell's couch.

How he got there was a bit complicated.

The Monday before the play, without anything better to do, Jake spent lunch sitting with his friends (and Jeremy), copying the notes Michael had given him the previous class period. He did not notice Jeremy's eyes wander to the paper, nor the sudden jolt that seemed to course through his body, forcing him to look away.

Jake was honestly surprised that Jeremy was even there. He'd broken Brooke's heart at the Halloween party, and apparently tried to coerce Chloe into having sex with him. Yet, the three of them were getting along fine, if a bit uncomfortably. Jake wondered if they were pretending to get along for him. He hoped not.

About halfway through lunch, Jake had finished the notes. Before he put them away, however, he saw a familiar red-hoodie-clad teen a few tables in front of him staring longingly in his direction. Jake looked up, making eye contact with Michael for a split second before the other boy turned away, covering his face.

Jake continued staring, puzzled. _Was he looking at_ me _?_ He shook his head dismissing the thought, and tried to join his friends' (and _Jeremy_ 's) conversation. They were talking about Eminem, Jeremy parroting random facts about the rapper to Brooke and Chloe, who were totally captivated. Jake zoned out again, searching for an excuse to leave before they started trying to get _him_ to talk about Eminem (he was _much_ more of a Carly Rae kind of guy), when he realized he _did_ have an excuse to leave the conversation.

He shoved his notes in his bag and picked up Michael's. "I'll be right back," he said, grabbing his crutches and standing up.

"Where are you going?" Jeremy asked, looking just to the right of Jake.

"Returning something," he replied, using the papers to gesture towards Michael.

Jake left without another word, making his way over to Michael, who was sitting… _alone? That's harsh._ Jake sat down in front of him, and Michael shot him a look before hesitantly taking his headphones off, leaving his hood up.

"Hey," Jake greeted. "I finished with the notes." He held them out.

Michael looked at him, then to the papers, and he grabbed them a bit too forcefully.

Jake was confused. _He was so nice last period, what_ happened _?_ "Thanks, again, for helping me out," Jake thanked, trying to make conversation.

"It's not like you needed it," he responded halfheartedly, not making eye contact. "I'm sure Chloe's notes would've been just as good."

"Not just for the notes. You practically saved my life on Halloween." Jake paused, noticing Michael's unwaveringly harsh expression. "That _was_ you, right?" he added, jokingly.

"Yeah," Michael replied shortly. He sounded impatient, almost bitter.

"That was really cool of you," Jake continued, trying to diffuse the tension. "I mean, we didn't even know each—"

Michael suddenly looked up, glaring daggers into him. "Are you _done_?" he snapped.

Jake jumped a bit at the other's sudden change in tone. "Sorry, what?"

Michael let out a groan. "Which one of them put you up to this? Was it Jeremy?" Jake couldn't find the right response, and Michael took that as a confirmation. "Of course it was." He laughed bitterly.  "It's _so funny_ , isn't it? Now that he's at the top of the food chain, he can shit all over me! _God._ " He turned away, putting a hand to his face.

The words finally came to him. "It's not like that at all!"

Michael rolled his eyes. " _Sure_. And you _didn't_ see me staring at Jeremy like I'm some kind of _creep_."

They sat in silence for what felt like forever, Jake mulling over what Michael had said. _Was that_ really _why he thought I was talking to him? What does Jeremy – FUCKING – Heere have to do with this? Why is_ everything _about_ him _?_ He caught himself, a realization coming to him.

**_"He's not even good at science. He used to copy off my homework all the time."_ **

Jake focused on one specific phrase.

**_"used to"_ **

"Did something happen between you and Jeremy?" Jake blurted out without thinking.

A strange look crossed over Michael's face. "What—Why do _you_ care?" he asked. "You're _Jake Dillinger_. Don't you have anything better to do than chat with some _loser_ about his—uh—friendship problems?" He seemed honestly confused.

"Not really," Jake admitted bluntly, casting a glance to his friends' ( _and **Jeremy's**_ ) table. "How about this?" He turned back. "If I tell you about _my_ friendship problems, you tell me about yours."

Michael held back a snicker. " _Jake Dillinger_ has friendship problems? That's hard to believe." He looked away for a moment before turning back. "Fine. You've got me intrigued."

Jake let out a halfhearted laugh. There was a moment of hesitation before he said, "My best friend set my house on fire."

Michael's expression did a complete one-eighty. "Holy shit, that's true? I thought Jenna Rolan made that up."

Jake shook his head, carrying on thoughtlessly. "And the worst part is like: I'm mad at him about it! Of course I am. But, like, I'm _more_ mad at myself for apparently being such a shitty friend that I made him want to burn my house down."

Not knowing what else to say, Michael responded with, "That's kinda fucked up."

"Yeah! I _know_! Now you. What's up with Heere?"

Michael hesitated before sighing, casting Jeremy a look from across the cafeteria. "It's complicated. I…" He stopped himself. "We had a fight at the Halloween party. And he's been ignoring me for a while, and it's kinda been taking a toll on my self-esteem."

"That's it?" Jake looked unimpressed. "Who cares if Heere's been a dick? It's not like he's your _only_ friend."

Michael gave him a look.

Jake's eyes widened. "Oh my god, he's your only friend," he breathed out, shocked.

"Yeah. I've been _alone_ for a while. We usually hang out all the time, but now it's just me. I can't really hang out with anyone else. I just feel really…"

"Out of place?" Jake finished.

Michael shrugged. "I mean, I guess you could put it like that, yeah."

Jake half-smiled. "I feel you, bro."

The two sat in a calm, comfortable silence, until a third voice broke it.

"Hey, Jake." The two whipped around and saw Jeremy standing behind him. "Chloe said she wanted to ' _show you something by her locker_ ' before lunch ends," he said casually, sounding rather uninterested.

"Tell her not right now," Jake replied sternly, well aware that the "something" by her "locker" that Chloe was talking about was a makeout session behind the school. Not appropriate behavior for two people "on a break," but _whatever._

Jeremy looked confused, but he immediately tried to hide it. "Okay."

"Hi, Jeremy," Michael greeted bitterly, giving his ex-best friend a wave.

Neither the wave nor the greeting was returned. In fact, Jeremy didn't even seem to notice Michael at all. He started to walk away before Jake stopped him.

"Are you gonna say _anything_?" he said, anger piercing his tone.

Jeremy froze, like a deer in his headlights of a speeding train. He took a breath and turned around. "What are you talking about?" he asked in an uninterested tone. _Hell_ , now that Jake thought about it, _everything_ Jeremy did was uninterested.

Jake looked at him, dumbfounded. _Is he really that stupid?_ "Whatever, bye," he dismissed, waving him away.

Jeremy shrugged ( _uninterestedly_ ) and walked away.

Jake immediately turned to Michael. "Okay, yeah. I see what you were talking about. It's like he didn't even _notice_ you."

"You don't know the half of it," Michael whispered. He slumped down onto the table, sighing.

Jake took a deep breath. He looked back at his friends, all back to chatting with Jeremy. He felt a strange feeling brewing inside of him, but he pushed it down – _it's probably nothing_. He took a breath. "Do you wanna hang out after school?" he asked, without looking away from his friends.

Michael sat up. "Sorry, what?"

"Do you wanna hang out after school?" Jake repeated, turning to Michael. "We could study or just chill or whatever."

A pause, then, " _Really_."

Jake nodded. " _Really_ really."

"You're serious?"

"Totally."

"I—well—" Michael ran his fingers through his hair. "Okay, I—I guess. Where?"

"Your place, preferably. Unless you wanna hang out in a glorified hotel room with my cat."

"Okay." Michael nodded. "My place is fine. I—uh—my parents won't be home till like ten, so, yeah."

"It'll have to be after play rehearsal, though. It ends at…" Jake paused, trying to remember. "Six, I think."

"Okay," he repeated. "Sounds good."

"Great! I should probably go talk to Chloe. She's probably pissed off at me for ditching her." Jake moved to grab his crutches, but had a sudden realization. He grabbed a sheet of paper from his bag and scribbled something down on it. "Here. Text me your address, when you get the chance."

Michael took the paper and looked at it for way longer than necessary. He shoved it in his pocket. "Okay," he repeated, _again._ "See you at six, then."

Jake grabbed his crutches, flashing Michael a grin before walking back to his table.

The smile was returned.

\---

And thus, at around six-ten, Jake found himself knocking on the door of Michael Mell's house. He looked back at Brooke's car, as she waved goodbye through the window. Jake gave her a thumbs up, flashing a trademarked smile.

He stole a glance at Jeremy in the backseat, looking away from Jake, blankly, at the empty seat next to him – _off in his own little world_.

He was always like that, Jake had begun to notice, even during Midsummer rehearsal – although his clear knowledge of Shakespearean language and remarkable acting ability more than proved his devotion to the project. At least, it did to Mr. Reyes. Jake, however, wasn't so certain.

Jake had begun to notice a lot of things about Jeremy. The way he so easily entered other people's conversations without so much as an introduction. The way he flinched every time he so much as sagged his shoulders. The way he sometimes muttered things to himself, just inaudible enough that nobody could understand him. The way he miraculously swaggered his way into Middleborough High School's hierarchy in the span of under a _month_. Jake couldn't help but notice how strange it was.

Jake couldn't help but notice how _familiar_ it was.

_Jake couldn't help but notice how much it reminded him of Rich sophomore year._

But the sound of high-pitched yipping interrupted Jake's thoughts – _did Michael have a dog? Hell yeah._ Jake loved dogs.

He heard a quiet "shh" from behind the door, and a small click as it was unlocked. The door opened, and there Michael stood. And behind him?

_The cutest goddamn dog Jake had ever seen._

The pup (a Shiba Inu, if Jake's dog knowledge was correct – _which it totally was_ ) immediately ran up to Jake, jumping up onto her hind legs and placing her front paws onto Jake's thigh.

Jake smiled and rubbed her head, completely enamored with the dog, barely registering the dull pain forming in his legs. She looked up, poking Jake's wrist with her nose, and started trying to lick his hand. He laughed a bit. "Down, girl," he whispered to no effect. She continued trying to climb Jake, only managing to nearly make him fall over.

Michael whistled. "Go home, Zelda," he commanded. Zelda did so, backing off of Jake and running back into the house. Michael looked back up at Jake. "You really are a chick magnet – even my dog is all over you." Jake chuckled, and Michael looked accomplished. "Thanks," he said. "Come on in." He backed up and Jake entered the house.

The first thing Jake noticed was how nice and _lived in_ the house looked. For anyone else, that would be a rather odd compliment, but for Jake it was something special. Since his parents left, Jake's house had been far too pristine. It was partially Jake's own fault – he'd wanted things to look nice in case his parents ever showed back up – but it made the house feel all the more empty. It was like nobody lived there – half of the rooms weren't even _used_. Sometimes Jake found himself sitting one of the guest rooms, just so somebody _did_. Entering Michael's house, Jake felt a pleasant sort of warmth wash over him. Or maybe it was just the heater.

Michael shut the door behind them, the noise snapping Jake out of his thoughts. "So," Michael said. "What do you wanna do?"

"Sit down," Jake joked, gesturing to his crutches.

"Heh, yeah, okay." Michael led Jake to the living room, where he motioned to a large white leather couch.

"Yeah, y'know," Jake said as he sat down, leaning his crutches against the arm of the sofa. "When you get crutches, they don't tell you how much your arms are gonna hurt after a few hours of walking. Which, like, I guess that's a good thing," he shrugged a shoulder, "'cause if I knew I wouldn't've gotten crutches. I would've just gotten a wheelchair, but I doubt that's any more comfortable."

Michael nodded in response, and Jake nodded back, not knowing what else to really say.

"So, uh…" Michael hesitated. "Do you like video games?"

Jake remembered the times he'd hung out with Rich and played Halo on his Xbox. He internally cringed. "I suck at video games," he replied straightforwardly. "Rich always kicks my ass."

Michael chuckled. "We can play co-op, then," he suggested. "So I can—uh—help you out and _not_ kick your ass. If you want to, I mean."

"What game?" Jake asked.

Michael grabbed a disc and held it up. The title read: " _Apocalypse of the Damned: Resurrection._ "

"The reboot?" Jake asked, concerned. "Didn't that get _really_ shitty reviews?" He remembered Rich complaining about it freshman year.

Michael shook his head. "No no no—you're thinking of ' _Apocalypse of the Damned:_ _The Revival_ ,'" he corrected, matter-of-factly. "' _Resurrection_ ' is the third game in the new series that ' _Revival_ ' started. But ' _Resurrection_ ' is _way_ better. Both of them are shitty compared to the original trilogy— _all games are shitty compared to the original trilogy—_ but the console for those is set up downstairs, and the basement stairs are _not_ safe to walk on with crutches."

"It's chill," Jake shrugged. "You sure know a lot about ' _Apocalypse of the Damned._ '"

Michael laughed uncomfortably. "Video games are kind of my thing."

"I've never really been too big on video games," Jake admitted, and Michael frowned slightly. "But it wouldn't hurt to try."

"Hell yeah!" Michael exclaimed, putting the game in. He tossed Jake a controller and sat down next to him on the couch.

_Level one: Start!_


	3. Absolutely Ridiculous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Jake try to watch a movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts, depiction of an anxiety attack
> 
> If such topics are triggering for you, you may want to skip the section beginning with: "Jake cast him a steely look." and continue upon reaching the paragraph beginning with: "The two sat in silence again..."
> 
> Please, if there are any topics in this work that you or others find triggering that I have not given a warning for, don't hesitate to reach out to me. (I am @/icarusninja on Tumblr)

After about an hour of trying (and failing) to beat level two of _Resurrection_ , Michael finally realized just how _awful_ Jake was at video games. It was almost comedic – every time Michael would save Jake's character from a zombie hoard, Jake immediately ran into _another_ zombie hoard that Michael had to save him from. Jake ran out of ammo constantly, due mostly to his horrible aim, and using his melee weapons only resulted in a zombie with a chainsaw hacking his avatar to pieces in full 1080p glory.

("How did that zombie even _get_ a chainsaw?" Jake had asked rhetorically, throwing his arms up in frustration.

"Probably Zombie Wal-Mart," Michael had replied, reloading the level.)

The duo eventually gave up on the game, and Michael had turned the TV onto some _Harry Potter_ movie marathon before leaving to grab a drink from the basement. Jake opted to use the brief moment of silence to check his phone.

He scrolled through his texts. One from Jenna: "Hope you're feeling okay!" followed by a string of incomprehensible emojis. One from Brooke: "Do you need a ride home?" Jake smiled. Brooke was always so nice to him – especially considering how much it probably sucked being his constant personal chauffeur. She was probably Jake's closest friend, aside from Rich. It was nice having someone who he could talk to about his problems. Rich had his own problems – _Hell_ , they must have been worse than Jake thought, considering the whole thing that had happened on Halloween. _Or maybe that was just my fault for being a shitty friend._

Ignoring the thought, Jake went to message Brooke, but was cut off by his phone buzzing. A caller ID popped up – _Chloe._

Jake let it vibrate for a few seconds before reluctantly answering. "Hello?" he greeted.

"Jakey!" Chloe replied cheerfully. Jake heard others talking loudly in the background. "So, me, Brooke, Jeremy, and Christine are all hanging out at Pinkberry ATM. We're running lines and shit." ( _Of course Chloe would be running lines the week of the play,_ Jake thought) "Wanna join in?"

Jake paused, hearing the basement door reopen. "I can't right now, Chlo."

Michael stopped just past the doorframe, carrying two bottles and pretending like he wasn't listening to Jake's conversation.

"Why not?" Chloe asked. "If you need a ride, Brooke can—"

"No, it's not that," Jake huffed. "I'm busy right now."

"Busy with _what_?"

"I'm just _busy_ —" Jake waved an arm for emphasis "—is that not an excuse?"

"Come _on_!" she whined. "You're missing out on all the fun! Christine's trying fro-yo for the first time, you don't wanna miss that, right?"

Jake sighed. "As fun as that sounds, I can't."

There was a short pause, some indistinct chatter being the only noise coming from the other line. Jake looked at Michael, who seemed confused or concerned or – _ugh._ Jake had always thought he was good at reading others, but Michael just seemed to be an enigma. It was frustrating as all hell.

"Can I go now?" Jake asked into the phone. "I—"

"You're still hanging out with that weird guy, aren't you?" Chloe interrupted, sounding rather offended. "' _Mitchell_ ,' or whatever? What, are you doing a project together or something?"

"Look, Chloe," Jake started, frustration evident in his tone, "it's ' _Michael_ ' – not like you care." He paused for emphasis. "And, I'm hanging out with him because we're… _friends_?" He looked back to Michael for validation. Michael shrugged, giving a sort of half-nod. "Friends," Jake repeated, only slightly more certain.

"Come on," Chloe sighed. "Ditch that guy and come hang with us! He won't mind."

At this point, Jake was ready to snap. _Why couldn't she just take no for an answer?_ He restrained himself, and responded as calmly as he could. "Chloe, I know this may seem shocking, but I have a life outside of you. So, I'm not going. Just have fun without me, and we can hang after rehearsal tomorrow if you really want." He paused. "Okay?"

"Fine," Chloe scoffed. "Bye."

Jake wasn't able to respond before she hung up.

Jake set his phone on the coffee table, letting out a sigh. Michael sat down next to him, placing an ice-cold soda bottle in Jake's hand.

Jake looked down at the bottle. Inside was a clear fizzy liquid. He turned the bottle over, inspecting the label, which read—

"' _Crystal Pepsi?_ '" Jake said questioningly, giving Michael a curious look.

Michael nodded. "Crystal Pepsi," he repeated assuredly. "It's like regular Pepsi, but clear."

Jake twisted the bottle around in his hands hesitantly, as Michael opened his own.

"Relax. It's—it's cool," Michael assured, taking a sip. Jake shrugged, doing the same.

"Wow," Jake whispered, unimpressed. "It… tastes just like regular Pepsi."

"Yep. That's the point."

The two sat in silence for a bit, the commercial break ending to reveal a scene near the middle-ish of " _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire._ " Jake tried to watch the film, although he'd seen it a million times (Chloe _really_ liked " _Harry Potter_ "). He couldn't seem to focus on it, his gaze kept drifting away from the TV before he forced himself to look back.

Michael broke the silence. "What was that call about?" he asked, shifting forward and turning to Jake.

"It's just Chloe," Jake answered. "Her and Heere and the whole Midsummer gang are hanging out at Pinkberry, and she's all mad 'cause she thinks I should be there, too, 'cause she's there. Which is ridiculous 'cause, like, we're on a break, we aren't dating right now." He wasn't quite sure why he felt the need to make that so clear. "She's just been weirdly possessive – like, she tried to trash me and Christine's relationship? And, I mean, I screwed the pooch on that one myself, but, y'know."

"Jeremy's there?" Michael asked, seemingly ignoring the rest of the dialogue.

"And that's why I'm _not_." Jake preemptively chuckled. "I'd rather be _here_ than with _Heere_."

"Oh," Michael replied simply, not laughing. "That's—That's cool."

And the next words fell out of Jake's mouth before he could think them through.

"Yeah, Jeremy's just such an asshole."

Jake saw Michael shift uncomfortably out of the corner of his eye and felt a pit in his stomach. _Why did I just say that?_

"Sorry, I," Jake rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, "I know you guys are, like, friends or ex-friends or something. I'll stop."

"You don't—" Michael swallowed hard "—You don't have to apologize. You're _right_ , he's—" He cut himself off, biting his lip and looking down.

"If talking about him makes you uncomfortable, then—"

"I'm not uncomfortable!" Michael interrupted, but backed off quickly. "It's just," he paused, "complicated. Sorry I cut you off."

A pause, the background noise of the television blurring Jake's thoughts, but his subconscious had already chosen what to say next.

"I don't wanna pry, but," he said, although, really, he couldn't help himself. "What _happened_?"

Michael frowned, letting out a sigh. "I don't think…" He trailed off, a furrow forming between his brows as he turned his gaze to the wall.

"If you don't wanna talk about it, I won't make you," Jake responded. "We could play another game, if you want."

"This is gonna sound weird," Michael started, seemingly independent from Jake's comment. "But have you ever heard of a pill called a ' _SQUIP_?'"

Jake squinted in concentration and confusion, wracking his brain for any recognition of the term. When he found none, he replied with, "No, what is it?"

Michael seemed taken aback. "W—You don't even _know_?" He backed down. "Well, I guess _nobody_ knows. Sorry I brought it up."

Jake looked from Michael's face to the TV then back again. "You didn't answer my question?" he responded, unsure. "And why would I know about some pill? I _don't_ do drugs, if I did they'd kick me out of sports." Although, if Michael was _offering_ , he supposed he could say yes. It's not like he'd be doing any sports any time soon.

"It's—" Michael coughed forcefully. "I—uh—I shouldn't have brought it up, it's about—I don't think I should—"

"Just answer the question, dude!" Jake said, louder than intended, and Michael flinched. "Sorry, just, look. If it's some weird illegal drug thing, I won't tell anyone. I'm not a snitch."

"It's _not_ a drug," Michael replied. "At least, I don't think." He let out a sigh, letting his head lean back on the top of the couch cushion. When he sat back up, he turned to Jake again. Perhaps seeing the pleading look him his eyes finally made him relent. "Look, what I'm about to tell you is really weird and messed up, but I _promise_ it's true, okay? You've gotta _swear_ that you'll believe me, no matter how ridiculous it sounds."

"I'll believe you," he promised.

"And you can't tell _anyone_."

"I… won't?" Jake promised, less assuredly.

Michael gave him a look.

"I won't! I won't," Jake repeated. "Cross my heart, scout's honor, and all that."

Michael took a deep breath. "It's not Jeremy's fault that he's acting like this," he stated certainly.

" _Jeremy's doing drugs?_ " Jake interrupted, jumping to the most logical conclusion. "Well, I mean, that explains—"

"I'm not done, Jake," Michael continued, exasperated. "Jeremy's been acting like this because he took a ' _pill_ ' called a ' _SQUIP_.'" He hesitated, then quickly rushed out, "A SQUIP is actually a pill-sized supercomputer that goes into your brain and helps you solve problems, I _guess_ , and Jeremy is using it to make himself cool and that piece of _shit_ thinks that Jeremy acting like an asshole is helping with that." Michael paused, looking at Jake, prompting a response.

" _Okay_ ," Jake responded, "I know I _said_ I'd believe you, but I am almost certain you're bullshitting me right now."

Michael gave him a pleading look. "I'm _not_! I swear! I thought it was fake too, mostly 'cause _Rich_ was the one who—"

Now _that_ caught Jake's attention. "What does Rich have to do with this?" he asked.

"Rich has one, too!" Michael exclaimed. "And he's been dealing them to students! That's how Jeremy got it in the first place!"

"I…" Jake stopped, at a loss for words. "What?"

"It's—uh—I'm not sure what exactly happened, but," Michael fiddled with his hoodie sleeves, "Rich told Jeremy about it and offered to sell him one, and we thought he was _crazy!_ " He punctuated the sentence with a wave of his hand. "But still, we checked his story out and—and it was true—"

"That's ridiculous," Jake cut him off, dumbfounded. "That's not even…"

Jake's voice trailed off and Michael continued, almost frantically, with, "Jake, look, I'm not lying, I promise, don't—"

"No, I—" Jake tapped his knuckles against his cast "—I know you're not lying, I get that."

"You _do_?" Michael seemed shocked.

"Y—Yeah?" Jake answered, slightly concerned. "It makes sense."

"It does?"

"Well, I mean, sophomore year, Rich started acting—uh—" Jake took a moment to find the right word " _—different_. He started going out with all these girls, and going to _parties!_ And, like, Rich _hated_ parties! He never even went to _mine_! And, y'know, not like there's anything wrong with that, I get that parties aren't really everyone's thing, but y'know."

"Stay on topic, man," Michael interjected.

"Right." Jake took a breath, getting back on track. "I think that might've been when he got it. Sophomore year."

"Yeah." Michael nodded. "He, uh, he told Jeremy that."

"Yeah." Jake shifted warily, picking at his jacket sleeve. "But there's…" He paused. "When did Jeremy get his SQUIP?"

Michael gave Jake a curious look. "Late September. The," he hummed in concentration, " _twenty-third_ , I'm pretty sure."

"Guess that's why Rich started acting all buddy-buddy with Jeremy around then." A pause, fiddling with one of the pins on his jacket, then, "Do you know if there are any… side effects?"

"Other than acting like a total dick?" Michael joked.

Jake cast him a steely look.

"Sorry, wrong time," he apologized. "I was talking to this guy about it online. He said his brother ended up in a mental hospital because of it. The guy got drunk as hell and tried to kill himself."

Jake gasped. "His—His SQUIP made him do that?" Thoughts were whirring through his head at a mile a minute, one standing out among all of them. _If_ his _SQUIP made_ him _do_ that _, then what did that mean for Rich?_

Jake was knocked out of his thoughts when Michael shook his head dismissively. "That's the thing," Michael continues. " _It_ didn't make him do that. He did that to try and get it _out_."

"What?" Jake blurted out.

"I think alcohol shuts it off temporarily," Michael explained. "But I guess since nobody knows how to shut it off _permanently_ , he decided to…" He stopped, making a vague gesture with his hands before holding them near his chest and wringing them nervously.

There was a long pause, the joyful commercial jingles on the TV in complete contrast to the mood in front of the screen. The tension was so thick, you could cut it with a knife; neither boy was sure what to say, both caught up in their own worry and concern. Jake, mulling over this new information, and Michael, Jake assumed, worrying over his ("former") best friend.

Jake couldn't take it anymore. There was something he needed to know, and the closest he could get to an answer was sitting right next to him. "Do you think that's why Rich set that fire?" he asked. "To…" He couldn't finish the thought.

Michael froze. He started to say something, but stopped, looking down.

"I should've helped him," Jake blurted out. "I should've done something." Tears started to cloud his vision, but he hardly noticed nor cared. "I _could've_ done something, but I…" He ran a hand through his hair, lightly tugging at it. "I _didn't_. I did _nothing_. I just did _nothing_."

"I just," Michael pursed his lips, looking down, "I can't believe you didn't know. I—for the longest time I thought you _had_ one. Rich kept it really secret, I guess."

"But that's not an excuse." Jake scraped the palm of his hand back and forth against the rough cast. "I'm—I was his best friend. I should've realized." He swallowed hard, a worse thought coming  to mind. "He could've died. You could've died. S—" His breath caught in his throat. " _God, so many people could've died._ I should've—"

"Jake, relax," Michael whispered calmly, moving to place a hand on Jake's shoulder. "It's not your fault—"

" _Yes, it is!_ " Jake reeled back from Michael's touch, and he pushed Michael's hand away, hard. He felt angry tears rolling down his cheeks. Jake covered his face with his hands, his body suddenly wracked with sobs. He saw Michael stand up out of the corner of his eye, and panic gripped him even more. Every thought was screaming at him to get _out_ ; to leave before things get worse – _as if they could possibly get any worse_ – but Jake could hardly bring himself to move. He was shaking – _god,_ he couldn't stop shaking, and bile was rising up in his throat. He curled in on himself, his elbows uncomfortably digging into his casts, but he didn't care. He tried to stop himself, to calm down, but every shaky breath only led to him choking on another sob.

It felt like hours had gone by before a familiar red blob made its way back into Jake's field of vision. He couldn't force himself to look at Michael, the sick pain in his stomach only growing.

"Hey, Jake," Michael started, voice hardly above a whisper.

Jake could feel Michael looking at him, which only made him hurt worse. "I'm fine," he choked out, covering his face even more.

"Jake," Michael repeated. "It's okay, I'm gonna help you." He set something down on the coffee table, and sat down next to Jake.

"I'm _fine,_ " Jake repeated, even quieter.

"Jake," Michael whispered reassuringly. "I'm here to help. _Please_."

A pause, then, "Okay," Jake breathed out, strained.

"All right," Michael responded, and Jake could hear the relief in his voice. "I want you to try and sit up."

Jake pushed himself up, using his arms to support himself. He wiped tears away with his sleeve, and fought to keep any more from falling. Getting to see the concern in Michael's face made that even harder.

"Okay, good," Michael continued. "Now try to focus on your breathing."

Michael gave off a few more instructions – a breathing exercise that Jake found far harder than he was willing to admit; constantly reminding Jake to sit back up whenever he found himself hunching forward; et cetera – and Jake followed them to the best of his ability. It took a few minutes, but eventually the tears, the shaking, and his intrusive thoughts seemed to stop, for the most part. His throat felt dry, and his eyes were stinging, and his chest was sore – but at least the worst part was over, right?

He looked at Michael, who silently offered him a glass of water. _It's not over, is it?_ Jake was struck with the sudden realization that he'd have to _talk_ to Michael about what just happened, and he was _not_ prepared for that. Michael would just say it was stupid, or that Jake was just pretending to freak out for attention, or the he was _just being irrational, and you need to stop acting like this or nobody's going to like you, and—_

"Jake?" Michael said, sending Jake out of his thoughts.

Jake jolted back to reality (quite literally, as he jumped slightly when Michael said his name), and grabbed the cup from Michael, his shaky hands splashing a few drops of water onto himself.

The two sat in silence again, however this time it was broken by Michael.

"Jake, if you don't mind me asking, uh…" Michael hesitated. "Do you—Do you wanna talk about that?"

Jake ignored the question, instead pretending to focus on the film. It had reached the scene in the lake. Fitting, considering Jake felt like he was drowning.

"Sorry, that wasn’t a good way to put it, I—"

"Y'know I've actually got a really funny story about this movie?" Jake interrupted, changing the subject. "While me and Chlo were dating, she went through this _huge_ Harry Potter phase, and she, uh…"

Michael's expression was stern. He could obviously tell what Jake was trying to do. _Shit_.

"I-It's not that big a deal," Jake dismissed, his voice sounding far more timid than he would've liked. _Come up with something say something literally anything_ "This sort of thing happens a lot." _Not that._ "Okay, well, not _'a lot'_ a lot, but, y'know, it's happened before."

Michael gave Jake a look that he could easily decipher. It was one he didn't see often, but knew all too well. _Pity_.

"Okay, not like _that_ much, it's happened once!" Jake continued defensively. "Just once! One time, and it was when m—" He held out the syllable for far longer that he needed to, forcing himself to not divulge any _more_ incriminating information to this guy he just met. "When my _dog_ died, I got really worked up about it, and yeah." The lie wasn't convincing, and so far from the truth that Jake was almost certain Michael would see right through him.

There was a long pause after that, Jake staring blankly at the movie and Michael staring just as blankly at the floor.

"I'm sorry," Michael eventually said.

"Sorry?" Jake repeated. "For what?"

"Sorry I made you feel like when your dog died," Michael elaborated. "I, uh, know how it feels to—to go through that and it sucks. It _sucks_." He paused, rubbing at his wrist, massaging the spot where Jake had smacked him. "And you should probably drink some more water because it'll make your throat feel better."

Jake coughed, as if on cue, and took another sip of water. "You didn't do that," he said. "it wasn't your fault, I was just being ridiculous."

"It's not ridiculous," Michael assured.

Jake didn't respond, he _couldn't_ really. There was nothing else for him to say. He looked down at the floor.

The TV cut to commercials. Jake's arm was shaking.

"Should I leave?" he asked.

"Do you—Do you want to?" Michael asked in turn.

Jake raised an eyebrow at him. "Don't you _want_ me to?"

" _No_ ," Michael answered, eyes widening slightly. "Why would I want that?"

"I insulted your best friend, for starters," Jake listed. "And I cried all over your couch. And I hurt your wrist. And I _suck_ at video games. And…" The smirk on Michael's face silenced him. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just." He chuckled into his hand. "Only _one_ of those things is a deportable offense in this house, and, currently, I'm not enforcing it." He sigh-laughed. "Besides, it's not the _worst_ thing someone's done to me this week, so, ' _c'est la vie_.'"

Jake laughed lightly in response. "Damn, what's a worse offense than being bad at video games?"

"Well, since I guess this is ' _sharing time_ ,'" Michael started. "You remember what I said about me and ' _good ol' Jeremy_ ' having a fight at your Halloween party?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, y'see," Michael stuttered a bit before finding what he wanted to say. "After his whole _thing_ with Chloe, whatever the fuck _that_ was, Jeremy ran off into the bathroom to hide from you. I was…" Michael covered his face with a hand. "I was in there trying to get away from the party when he showed up. I warned him about the SQUIP, but he wouldn't listen to me. He said I was _jealous_ and that he didn't need my help. He…" Michael paused, blinking away tears. "He called me a loser, can you believe that? _He_ was a loser before he got that pill! He probably wouldn't have even gotten it if it wasn't _for_ _me._ " Michael's voice caught in his throat, and he wiped a few tears away with his sleeve. " _Shit_ ," he joked. "Now we're both crying." He let out a wet laugh. " _On my good leather couch!_ "

Jake chuckled a bit in response, but sobered himself and said, "That's _awful._ I'd say I can't believe that he'd do something like that, but it's _completely_ in character for the Jeremy I know."

"Yeah," Michael sighed. "He really is 'just _such_ an asshole.'"

Jake smirked at Michael's comment. "Yeah, but I'm pretty sure he's the only guy who had fun at my Halloween party."

"Is that a good thing?" Michael asked.

Jake shrugged a shoulder. "Yes—Maybe—Who _cares_?"

Michael half-smiled, "Can't argue with that, I guess."

"That night wasn't _all_ bad, though," Jake admitted, looking Michael in the eye. "At least I got to meet you!"

Michael muffled a laugh with his hand. "Yeah, after you jumped out a window a broke your fucking legs, you weirdo."

"And you _bravely_ cradled me to your P.T. Cruiser." Jake chuckled. "What was it I said to you? ' _Who the fuck are you?_ '"

"Shut _up._ " Michael lightly punched Jake's shoulder. His gaze travelled down, and then back to meet Jake's. "But, uh, feeling's mutual, pal." He smiled warmly, holding out his hand for a fist bump.

Jake, the ever-emotional, went in for a hug instead.


	4. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Michael talk about music. Jake has a confrontation at play rehearsal.

Jake was a morning person.

He wasn't sure how exactly he'd ended up that way.  He still had relatively recent memories of his father coaxing him out of bed to go to school, or church, or some other event that required getting up prior to eleven; he probably would've slept through the end of the world, presuming it happened in the morning. But something had changed around the middle of sophomore year. Something changed after his parents left.

Perhaps it came with being self-reliant. Without anyone to wake you up if your alarm dies, you'd have to develop a strong circadian rhythm to do anything on time. Because if you don't wake up on time, you won't have time to feed the cat, or water the plants, or make yourself breakfast. If you don't wake up on time, you won't get to school on time, or meet up with Brooke, or have Rich show you that cool skateboard trick he learned (so he can "accidentally" hurt himself and get out of first period algebra). You won't have time to eat, or chat with Chloe or Christine or Jenna.  The routine that Jake had grown accustomed to since his parent's departure was how he kept his life structured. And that structure just happened to begin at five in the morning.

After the fire, the routine may have changed, but the structure stayed put.

Jake was lucky Brooke was even more of a morning person than him.

Jake had lost a lot in the fire – his house, nearly all of his clothes, and – worst of all – his _car_.

Jake's car was, to put it in layman's terms, a straight-up _beast_. A jet-black 1969 Ford Mustang Boss with dark grey leather interior and a decked-out stereo. Old as it was, it was a bit of a gas guzzler, for sure, but a worthy one. His parents had gotten him the car for his sixteenth birthday – to congratulate him on not only getting his license, but also on his amazing grades. It was, truly, one of the great perks of having rich-ass parents.

Rich had been the first one to see it in person a few days later, when Jake had to pick him up after he'd gotten into an argument with his dad, that had escalated into a physical fight. He and Jake had driven around for a few hours, grabbing some dinner at Denny's at about one in the morning, until they eventually went back to Jake's house, where Rich stayed the night. He remembered the house being silent except for he and Rich's footsteps – odd, considering Jake's parents _usually_ would've been up and asking him where he'd been for the past few hours.

He remembered waking up that morning to an empty house.

That car was Jake's prized possession – the one thing that reminded him that, even though they left, and they probably weren't ever coming back, his parents still loved him.

Jake remembered the day after the fire; he'd been sitting in a hospital bed checking his social media when a video caught his eye. Someone from the party had filmed the fire from the other side of the street.

Jake didn't exactly want to watch the video, but something inside him said that he _had_ to. He had to know what happened after Michael drove him away. He had to know what he didn't see.

The flames were covering the house, and emergency services still weren't there. It hurt to look at, but he kept watching.

He kept watching as the fire claimed the garage.

He kept watching as the floor above it started to sink as its supports were burned away.

_He kept watching as it collapsed onto the garage._

The car did not survive the fire, and Jake felt that a little part of himself had been crushed and buried under the rubble with it.

Therefore, the first thing Jake needed to do after getting out of the hospital was get a ride to school – and that ride became Brooke.

Brooke would arrive at Jake's condo at six in the morning, every morning. She would wear a smile and a nice loose-fitting cardigan. She'd go upstairs to the fourth floor and knock six times before pulling out a room key and opening the door. She'd head over to the couch, where Jake would be waiting, and pull out breakfast from a bag labelled with whatever fast food chain was having a special that day. They'd chat for a bit, then Brooke would drive them to school.

The system was far different than what Jake was used to – considering it used to be _him_ doing all of that stuff (breakfast, driving to school, et cetera). He knew it wouldn't last forever – eventually Jake's legs would heal, and he'd get a new car, and maybe he'd find a different place to live – but for now Jake felt a strange sense of comfort in the new circumstance.

It was different, but Jake could get used to different.

\---

The Tuesday before the play, Jake woke up at five in the morning to his cat, Sbarro, pawing at his stomach. He rolled over onto his back, tiredly grumbling under his breath. He sat up, stretching, and turned to look at the little kitty sitting next to him. Jake gave Sbarro a little pat on the head, and she responded with a quiet "mrah" sound. Jake smiled, and gave her a scratch under the chin.

After a few minutes spent petting Sbarro and psyching himself up to get out of bed, Jake finally actually did so. He maneuvered himself over to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of Crystal Pepsi that he'd taken from Michael's house. Cracking it open with that signature soda fizz sound, he took a sip and thought of Michael. It was nice, although it still just tasted like Pepsi.

His gaze fell to the stove, still unused. The idea of cooking something popped into his head, but he dismissed it, figuring Brooke was probably going to be bringing something anyways, and Jake didn't quite feel comfortable around the stove ( _too much of a fire hazard_ ). He went over to the couch, feeling far more tired than he wanted to be. Getting dressed and brushing his hair and actually making himself look presentable felt like a hassle. _Maybe I could skip today? I doubt Brooke's on her way yet._

But skipping meant getting another unexcused absence on his record, and one more meant a call to his parents, and _God only knows_ how the school would react to both numbers being inactive or used by someone else, because as far as _they_ knew, Jacob Clayton Dillinger lived with his two _loving_ parents Sarah and Marc Dillinger, who were both accountants, and definitely _alive_ and _not_ hiding from the law in Barbados or Uruguay or Wyoming or wherever…

Yeah, bad call.

Jake reluctantly got back up and got himself ready – trying to keep his signature " _Cool Guy Style TM_" while he felt like he was dying inside.

Eventually five o' clock melted into five-forty-five, and Jake heard a knock at the door. Or, six knocks, to be precise.

"You're early," Jake greeted from his spot on the couch, after hearing the door open.

Brooke entered and set a paper bag and two medium coffee cups on the coffee table in front of Jake. "I said _'around six_ ,' not ' _exactly six o'clock every day_.'"

Jake rolled his eyes and took a look at breakfast. "McDonald's? Really?"

"They were having a two-for-two deal on McGriddles!" Brooke defended, handing Jake a sausage McMuffin. "I couldn't resist!"

"You're really gonna eat two of those things by yourself?" Jake asked, unwrapping his muffin.

"Unless you want one," Brooke replied, offering him the second McGriddle.

Jake pushed it away. "God, _gross._ Honestly—" he took a bite of his muffin "—I'd rather break both my _arms_ than eat that shit."

Brooke giggled in response, and the two ate in silence for a bit.

"So!" Brooke started after finishing her first McGriddle. "How was yesterday?"

"Hm?" Jake cocked his head, swallowing. "Yesterday?"

"Yeah, with your friend," Brooke clarified.

"Oh! Right, yeah." He took another bite, stalling to come up with the right thing to say. "It was good."

"Good!" Brooke smiled warmly, then glanced towards the ground, the edges of her lips turning downward, only slightly. "So, uh, I was gonna go visit Rich after school today."

Jake felt his shoulders tense up involuntarily; he hoped Brooke didn't notice. She noticed.

"You don't have to go if you don't want to," she placed a gentle hand on his, "but I wanted to let you know, in case you do."

"I—" Jake stopped, his lips in a tense line as he thought before settling on a rather hesitant, "No." He sighed, closing his eyes, his mind settling back into the memory of the night before. Sitting on Michael's couch, panicking over _nothing_ —Christ! What would he even do if he had something _real_ to panic over?

"Jake?" Brooke's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"I just can't yet." His voice shivered slightly; he cleared his throat. "Maybe after the play is done with and I've got less on my mind."

"Okay," she paused, "Sorry I brought it up. I didn't mean to stress you out."

Jake chuckled halfheartedly. "It's fine." He smiled. "I'm not stressed."

\---

Okay, maybe he was stressed. Maybe he was _very_ stressed, but that wasn't Brooke's fault, it was more the amalgamation of a whole list of bullshit.

Visiting Rich just happened to be the first thing on that list.

First period, Jake found himself weighing the options in his head. _On the one hand_ , if Jake didn't go, Brooke would probably be upset with him – and when Brooke was sad, _everyone_ was sad.

 _On the other hand,_ if Jake went, then he'd probably freak out before he even got into the room. Then Brooke would tell Chloe about it, and Chloe would tell Jenna, and Jenna would tell _everyone_.

 _Or worse,_ Jake could steady himself enough to get into the room, only to have Rich tell him off. _"I never want to see you again,"_ he'd say. And Jake would agree, because it'd be perfectly justified, wouldn't it? And then he'd leave the room, have a breakdown, Brooke would tell Chloe, Chloe would tell Jenna, then _everyone…_

Jake ended up in second period, still conflicted. He tried to push the thought to the back of his mind, but then he saw Jeremy out of the corner of his eye. Something inside him clicked, and he remembered what Michael told him yesterday. About "SQUIPs."

Therein, the second thing he needed to stress about. And, stress he did, allowing his mind to run rampant with questions.

 _What if the only reason Rich hung out with me in the first place was so he could get more popular? What if he only liked me because his SQUIP told him to? What if he burned down my house both because he was trying to get rid of his SQUIP_ and _because he hates me?_

 _What if he was trying to get rid of his SQUIP_ because _he hates me?_

 **_What if he was trying to get rid of_ ** **me _?_**

Jake flinched at the feeling of a hand tapping his shoulder. He saw Jeremy standing next to him. He was saying something, but Jake was too focused on his thoughts to comprehend a single word of it. All he could focus on was what Michael told him last night. About Jeremy. About his SQUIP. About who gave it to him. About _R—_

"Jake, are you listening?"

Jake jumped slightly. "Sorry, what?" he asked, looking up at Jeremy.

"The bell rang," Jeremy said. "You—uh—" he jolted suddenly, his whole body tensing up. He took a breath, straightening his back. "You weren't getting up," he repeated. "Are you okay?"

Jake looked Jeremy up and down concerningly. "I should ask you that," Jake retorted. "What the fuck was _that_?" He gestured vaguely at Jeremy.

"What was what?" Jeremy asked, feigning innocence.

"That whole mini-seizure you just had there," Jake explained.

"No idea what you mean," Jeremy replied dismissively. "You're seeing things, bro."

"I…" Jake let out an annoyed groan. "Okay, yeah. Sure. Never mind." Prying was pointless, it was probably a SQUIP thing, anyway.

"All right." Jeremy's casual look shifted for a moment, but Jake couldn't read it fast enough before he turned away. "See ya!" Jeremy gave Jake a mock salute before leaving.

Jake waited for Jeremy to exit before moving to do the same, glaring at the empty space he left.

He muttered under his breath, " _Don't call me bro._ "

Third period passed without incident, and when Jake walked into Biology he found himself face-to-face again with the _third_ thing he needed to stress over.

 _Jeremy_.

Jake sat down in his usual seat, the returning substitute teacher calling roll, as Jake's eyes were focused squarely on the back of Jeremy's head as the other sat with Jenna, chatting about something. Not knowing how to read lips, Jake could only assume what they were talking about—something stupid and boring that Jeremy somehow knows absolutely everything about.

He squinted. Not " _somehow_ ," Jake knew perfectly well how he knew all that shit. Having a supercomputer in your brain definitely counts as cheating, right?

A blur of red motion on his left; an instinctual, "Hi, Michael."

"You good?" Michael asked.

Jake kept his focus clearly on Jeremy. "Never better."

Michael rolled his eyes, leaning over the desk slightly to get a better look at Jake's face. "You look like you're trying to blow up Jeremy's head with your mind," he joked. "It won't work—believe me, I've tried."

Jake let out a deep sigh, leaning back into the chair. "Y'know, I thought the whole ' _being-controlled-by-a-supercomputer_ ' thing would make me feel _bad_ for him?" he whispered, trying to ensure Jeremy wouldn't hear. "But, like, it doesn't."

"I mean, that's fair," Michael replied, eyes pointed at Jeremy.

"I just—I'm— _ugh._ " Jake leaned over the table, rubbing his face with both hands. "Fuckin' Jeremy, man."

"Eloquent."

"Whatever, I'm just tired, I guess," Jake muttered. He looked over to the substitute teacher, sitting behind the desk on his phone. "What're we supposed to be doing again?"

"Finishing the work from yesterday," Michael answered, pointing at the whiteboard at the front of the classroom. "So, uh, nothing."

"Nice," Jake said, emphasizing the "s" sound. He leaned over the table propping his head up on his hand. Drumming his fingers on his cheek, he pulled out his phone and started absentmindedly scrolling through Instagram.

Michael took out his phone also, and pulled his headphones over his ears. Jake took a subtle glance at his headphones – somewhat bulky and white with large block letters painstakingly Sharpie-written onto each side: "L," on the left, "R," on the right. They were pretty neat, Jake thought.

Perhaps unintentionally, Jake let his gaze travel down to Michael's arm. His hoodie was covered in patches. Jake had already noticed this, of course, but he never really had a chance to _look_ at them. The top one on his arm was yellow and red – "BOWIE" spelled out in italicized letters. The next, yellow and round, "Beastie Boys" written on it in a curlier, blue font. Another, nearing Michael's elbow, a rectangular—

Michael cleared his throat and Jake looked up. He'd pulled one ear of his headphones back, and spoke like he was choking on his own words. "You—uh—You see something you like?"

Jake replied instinctually, "You've got patches." He traced his hand over his own right arm.

Michael nodded, shifting his hand over his right elbow. "You've got pins." He pointed at Jake's chest, at the small collection of pins attached to his letterman jacket: one for Carly Rae Jepsen, one for archery, an Archie Comics pin, and one with a little cartoon violin on it that said, "no need for _violin_ -ce" in a curly black font.

"Yeah—I used to collect them," Jake said. "Well, I still do, but, uh, y'know, _fire._ Lost a lot of them."

"Oh," Michael responded.

"Yeah." Jake breathed out, and coughed awkwardly. "But, anyway, yeah." He gestured vaguely, and stopped talking, opting to go back to his phone instead.

Michael followed suit, and Jake watched him type with his phone keyboard, silent. He saw a familiar blue blob appear on the screen, and for a split second, Jake wondered who Michael was texting.

His eyes moved without intention: _"Player 2."_

He noticed Michael swallow nervously and place his phone face-down on the table, the thought only then registering that— _shit_ —he'd said that out loud, hadn't he?

"Sorry, uh," Jake looked to Michael's face, his expression taut and nervous. "I wasn't reading your texts or anything, I swear." _Wow, way to not sound suspicious._ "I really actually wasn't, it just slipped out."

"D—Dude, it's fine," Michael assured, not relaxing. "I believe you, it's fine."

"Yeah," a pause, Jake ran his fingers through his hair, "So, what're you listening to?"

"Oh—uh—" Michael flicked through his phone and opened his music app, showing it to Jake.

"' _The Struts_ ,'" Jake quietly read.

"Have you—uh," he pulled his phone back, "heard of them?"

Jake simply shook his head. "Nah, I don't really know them. Are they ' _punk_?'" He put air quotes around the word.

"I mean, kinda, yeah," Michael shrugged. "But, punk is relative, y'know? Everyone's got their own idea what it is. Some people think Taylor Swift is punk."

Jake nodded, even though he had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

"I—I dunno, Jeremy used to say my music is ' _more punk_ ' than his, but, well, I personally don't consider myself punk. Unless Bob Marley is punk, because, if so, I am _extremely_ punk. What about you?"

"I think you've said the word ' _punk_ ' too many times, and it's lost all meaning," Jake replied.

Michael chuckled. "No, I meant, uh, what do _you_ listen to?"

"Oh!" Jake's eyes widened slightly. "I listen to more, like, ' _poppy_ ' stuff."

"Such as?" Michael pried, raising one eyebrow.

"Mostly Carly Rae Jepsen, she's my favorite," Jake answered. "But, uh, Paramore's new stuff is really good, too."

A pause, then, "Oh." Michael leaned back in his chair.

" _Oh_?" Jake replied. "Oh what?"

"Just wasn't what I was expecting."

"You _were_ expecting…" Jake trailed off, gesturing to Michael for a response.

"I—I dunno, like," Michael fidgeted with the strings of his hoodie. "Drake, or Eminem—" Jake scoffed "—or something? Something more mainstream, I guess. Maybe Ed Sheeran."

"Well, I like Ed Sheeran," Jake said. "So, close enough."

"Close enough," Michael repeated, shrugging.

"Is Ed Sheeran ' _punk_?'" Jake asked, smirking.

"Is _Ed Sheeran_ punk?" Michael responded, amused. "Jake Dillinger, you _wound_ me. If Ed Sheeran is punk, then it truly _has_ lost all meaning."

And they laughed, like they were back on Michael's couch. Jake saw his reflection in Michael's deep brown eyes, tension in his face gone.

He almost didn't notice Chloe staring at them from the front of the classroom.

_Almost._

\----

The fourth thing Jake needed to be stressed about was Chloe, and, by extension, Christine.

Really, it wasn't Chloe's fault. Chloe probably wasn't trying to hurt Jake—he _knew_ that. But sometimes it didn't _feel_ like that. He knew she had her jealous habits, and she'd only said that stuff about him being "flighty" and "unattached" to Christine to make her not want to date him. But that didn't make it hurt less. _That didn't make it any less true._

And the worst part was that he couldn't talk to anyone about it. Confiding in Brooke wouldn't work, as she was far too busy with dealing with her quick changes (seriously, _why_ did Mr. Reyes think it was a good idea to _triple cast_ her?), and, although Jenna was really nice, Jake couldn't help but fret over her broadcasting his problems to the whole school. And Christine…

Christine wasn't an option.

So that's why he was relentlessly fidgeting at the beginning of that afternoon's dress rehearsal. And it explained the way he couldn't quite keep track of his cues, earning assured whispers from Christine that he's "doing fine!" and eye-rolls from Chloe.

Mr. Reyes cleared his throat and Jake looked up from the floor.

"Your line, Mister Dillinger." Jake cringed; he _hated_ being called that.

He stood up, using a specifically-placed chair as a support, looking to Chloe-as-Helena with faux-loving eyes as he fumbled with his crutches. "And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake!"

The scene continued as it were, Chloe doing as—well, not as " _great_ " as ever, because she wasn't great in the slightest, but, maybe, as _decent_ as ever. At least the scene ended without break, since she remembered all her lines. But, Jake could tell there was something on her mind, from how she was looking at him. While, _yes_ , Helena was supposed to be angry at Lysander in this scene, Jake knew that Chloe's acting talent didn't range quite that far.

Jake frowned when Mr. Reyes entered stage left, wearing a version of Rich's Demetrius costume recreated to fit someone taller. Jake had really been looking forward to acting opposite Rich in the play—silly as that may sound. Their characters shared a lot of stage time together—they'd even worked out a fun bit during one of their fight scenes where Rich would've jumped on Jake's back as the two ran offstage. The bit wasn't as funny with two broken legs, or with Mr. Reyes as Demetrius, so they'd opted to cut it. But that was _fine_ ; Jake didn't care. (Okay, maybe he cared a little bit, but— _whatever_.)

Half an hour later, break had been called, Reyes exited the auditorium to get his snack, Christine and Brooke went off to go grab drinks, and Jake sat down in one of the house chairs, the hard plastic not offering any comfort. And then Chloe walked up to him.

"Hey, Chlo," he greeted without much thought. "What's up?"

"You know _very well_ , 'what's up,'" she responded, arms crossed.

Jake raised an eyebrow. "No, I don't think I do."

She was glaring at him. "Were you ever gonna tell me about your _new best friend_?"

Jake blinked; _Michael_? This was about _Michael_?

"What is there to tell?" Jake said. "He's a guy, named Michael, and we're friends now. Am I supposed to update you on every person I talk to? Is that what two people ' _on a break_ ' do?" He doesn't like his own tone, feeling as though he's being too harsh. But, still, Chloe was harsh first, maybe she deserved it.

But, _still_ , maybe the "on a break" comment was too low, because it certainly seemed to bother Chloe. Jake wanted to apologize, but Chloe spoke before he could.

"Well, I just figured I should warn you: if you invite him to our lunch table, I'm moving." It was a hollow threat. Jake knew the only other place she'd be willing to spend lunch was at her own house. "In case you were thinking about doing that."

"Maybe I was thinking about it," Jake mused, lying through his teeth. "And, what, so you're allowed to invite people to the table, but I'm not?"

"Who did _I_ invite to the table?" Chloe raised an eyebrow.

Jake side-eyed Jeremy, who was lost in conversation with Jenna. "You _know_." He let out a sigh. "Whatever let's just ignore it, I really don't care."

A pause. "You seem pissed off," Chloe observed.

"Do I?"

"You _do_. Did I do something?"

Jake bit back a comment, opting instead to go with: "Look, Chloe, I just don't get what's _up_ with you."

"What's up with _me_?" Chloe repeated incredulously. "What's up with _you_? You're the one who's been ignoring me!"

"I'm not ignoring you," Jake said, although, a part of him did understand where Chloe was coming from. "Look, _you_ were the one who said they wanted to go ' _on a break,_ ' so I figured—"

"That it was okay to just start ditching me?" Chloe finished for him. "Like at lunch yesterday, or at Pinkberry—"

"I wasn't ditching you, I was just hanging out with someone _else_ ," Jake interrupted. "Am I not allowed to hang out with other people?"

Chloe frowned. "Jake, that's not what I meant."

"I know, but," Jake sighed, "You know what, I'm sorry. That you feel like I'm ignoring you. That I'm making you feel like that. I'll work on it, I've just got a lot on my mind. Sorry if I'm making you upset, I really don't want to." And, really, that was just the truth. As upset as he was – at Jeremy, at Rich, at the world, at himself, even at Chloe – he didn't want to take all of that out on her. She didn't deserve that; only one person deserved that.

If Chloe was malcontent with Jake's apology, she didn't show it on her face. "Thanks, Jake, I really needed to hear that."

"Yeah," Jake replied, and he could have left it at that.

But, he didn't.

"And I forgive you, by the way." It just slipped out; he wasn't even sure why.

Chloe raised an eyebrow. "For _what_?"

"For trying to sabotage me and Christine's relationship." _Jesus Christ, Jake, please shut up._ "I just wanna make sure it's not anything hanging over us or anything, y'know? I forgive you."

"I didn't do that," Chloe scoffed. "That's ridiculous, Jake."

"Yeah, you _did_ ," Jake said. "Rich told me what you said to her. And—like—I'm not mad or anything, but, just. Don't _lie_ to me about it."

He heard a huff of breath from a few yards away. "A bit bold of you to put so much faith in the words of the guy who burned your house down."

Jake turned to his right. _Jeremy_.

"'Scuse me?" Jake replied, standing up and maneuvering himself towards Jeremy, who made no motion towards him. "Um, correct me if I'm _wrong_ , but I don't remember you being a part of this conversation."

For a moment, Jeremy almost looked nervous, but he near-instantly regained composure and said, "Look, I'm just saying that you should probably take Chloe's word here."

"And I'm _just saying_ that _you_ should probably not barge into other people's conversations," Jake retorted. "And _don't_ talk about Rich."

There's a pregnant pause before Jeremy speaks again. "But, y'know, can you _really_ trust him to tell the truth about that sort of thing?"

Jake hardened his glare, but Jeremy didn't stop.

"He wasn't exactly right in the head." Jeremy tapped on his right temple.

Jake clenched his fist around the handhold of one of his crutches. A part of him wanted to respond, _"Neither are you,"_ but he refrained.

"And you know this, _how_ , exactly?" Jake questioned. "Because, last time I checked, you knew Rich for a _month_. I've known him for _five years._ I think I know how ' _right in the head_ ' he is."

"I mean, the guy burned your house down, so—"

"You're right!" Jake exclaimed with faux-enthusiasm. "He burned _my_ house down. What part of that involves _you_?"

A pause, then, "I was there."

Jake scoffed. "No, you weren't."

"No, I _was._ " Jeremy sounded defensive.

" _No you weren't, asshole,_ " Jake snapped back. It was a bold move on Jeremy's part, lying about that. Jake could imagine him and his SQUIP thinking it was just _so fucking clever_. It was like the guy was _trying_ to get under his skin. "You weren't there, now _shut up_. And don't talk about Rich."

"Okay," Jeremy relented, except, _no_ , he didn't. "I just think, maybe you should apologize to Chloe—"

And Jake snapped.

" _This doesn't fucking involve you, Heere!_ " He tried to advance closer to Jeremy, but with the crutches and his wild emotions, it served too difficult. "You aren't a part of this—you were _never_ a part of this!"

"' _This?_ '"

"This conversation! This group! _My_ _life_!" Jake gestured erratically with his left hand. "This may shock you, but just 'cause you're ' _popular_ ' now, does _not_ mean we are friends. You don't know _anything_ about me, and I don't _want_ you to know anything about me!"

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Jake heard one of the auditorium doors open. Jeremy opened his mouth to speak.

" _JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP, HEERE!_ "

Jake could hear his voice echo, and Jeremy, for _once_ , didn't say a word.

Jeremy was looking behind him, and Jake turned around to do so as well. Hovering hesitant in the entryway were Brooke and Christine. Christine looked horrified, Brooke looked disappointed, and Jake turned back to Jeremy, and…

He looked _pitiful_. And Jake realized what was going on, and he wished his legs weren't broken so he could walk over and _kick Jeremy's manipulative ass_.

Seeing them, Jake felt the fire in his eyes quickly shift to something a lot less threatening. He clenched his teeth, choking back his overflowing emotions. It was much like putting a band-aid on a cracked dam, _but_ _like hell was he going to cry in front of Heere_.

So he walked out, opting for the extra-long walk to the side entrance to avoid passing Brooke and Christine because _god_. If he had to look at either of them for one more second, he was going to break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey gang just a warning: the next chapter is gonna be pretty short compared to the others, so i'm probably gonna post chapters 5+6 at the same time, so there's probably gonna be a bit more of a wait than usual.
> 
> hope you're enjoying the story, be sure to kudos and comment, and have a lovely day !!


	5. Shortly Thereafter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake avoids rehearsal by having a chat with Michael.

How long can one person spend sitting in an empty public bathroom before someone notices?

The answer, Jake found, was definitely over twenty minutes.

But, like, _whatever_ , it wasn't as if Jake _wanted_ someone to walk in on him while he was sitting on a bathroom sink, over-emotionally watching Vine compilations to try and calm himself down. Actually, wait, no, in fact, he _really didn't want anyone to walk in on that_. Never mind.

Jake could see how it would play out: Jeremy Heere, Absolute JackassTM and the only guy left in the Midsummer cast besides Reyes, walks in to check on him. He says something offensive, pisses Jake off, and Jake slams one of his crutches in his face.

Jake chuckled at the mental image, but chided himself for how violent it was, but then remembered that Jeremy had the balls to call Rich "not right in the head," when he know _fuck-all_ about him, and then he was just back to being angry again.

Scrolling back the video to rewatch the "road work ahead" Vine (a classic, truly), Jake sighed. He checked the time – 4:30. There was still an hour and a half of rehearsal left, and Jake didn't want to spend all that time cooped up in a bathroom stall.

So, he did the only thing he could think of: text Michael.

**Me: hey man whatsup are you still at school**

Jake tapped on his cast, not very patiently waiting for a response. When his phone buzzed, he felt his heart stop before he checked the contact.

**Michael From Bio: Yeah, why?**

Jake went through a few prospective sentences before settling on a reply that he liked.

**Me: idk some stuff happened and I don't wanna go back to rehearsal do u mind if I chill w/ you for a bit?**

**Michael From Bio: If you want. I'm in Mr. Heglund's room working on shit for art. Heglund's not here tho, he left already.**

**Me: nice I have no idea who that is**

**Michael From Bio: Art teacher, room 182**

**Me: rad**

Jake made his way to the art room, hyper-aware of every click his crutches made on the linoleum floor. The door was open when he arrived. Inside, the walls were plastered with paintings and pencil sketches, and the floor was spattered with dried paint. Michael sat in the back of the room, near a large stack of chairs that Jake assumed were the classroom's, a pencil in his left hand and a large sketchbook laid out in front of him.

He looked up, adjusting his glasses. "'Sup."

"'Sup," Jake greeted in return, looking around for somewhere to sit.

"I put a chair over here," Michael said, noticing Jake's confusion, gesturing to his right. "I—uh—I figured you wouldn't wanna stand."

Jake nodded pensively. "You figured right," he responded, making his way over to the chair and sitting down, propping his crutches against the window. His eyes over Michael's sketchbook, studying the unfinished sketch. "That looks nice."

Michael gave a half-smile. "Thanks, it's for a project. In art, we've gotta draw a still life." He gestured over the paper. "So, I'm just drawing a fruit bowl. I didn't feel very creative when I picked it."

"Well, it looks _really_ good," Jake complimented. "I tried out art, freshman year, but I'm just not good at it."

"Yeah, it takes a lot of practice," Michael shrugged. "I've been doing art for a few years, and I'm still not _amazing_ at it, but, I'm a lot better than I was when I started."

Jake blinked. "Yeah."

There was a short pause, wherein Michael moved his chair to directly face Jake.

"So, uh, _rehearsal_?"

Jake let out a deep sigh.

"Was it Jeremy? I'm just assuming it was Jeremy." Michael took his silence as a yes. "I'm sorry, man. You don't need that shit in your life. He's _awful_."

"He was talking about Rich, and," Jake ran a hand through his hair, "I guess it just set me off, so I yelled at him—told him to stay out of my business. But Christine and Brooke didn't hear the rest of it, they only heard me yelling, so that's _great_. And Jeremy was just playing the victim, or whatever. Acted all sad, and Chris and Brooke were pissed at me, so I left and sat in the bathroom for like twenty minutes."

A pause, then Michael said, "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Jake responded. " _He_ 's the asshole."

"I never should've let him get that stupid pill." Michael let out a sigh-laugh. "I don't—it's not even doing its _job_! It's supposed to make him cooler. Why's it making him act like that to you? You're the most popular guy in school."

"Yeah, that's weird," Jake replied, neglecting to mention that he didn't exactly believe that. He couldn't help but question: _how much of Jeremy's behavior could be blamed on the SQUIP?_ There had to be a line somewhere. And Jeremy had just seemed so _casual_ with his remarks – so relentlessly indifferent.

"It's fucked up," Michael said, interrupting Jake's train of thought. " _That's_ what it is."

A pause, Jake drummed his fingers on the table. "Hey, I've got a question."

"Shoot."

"How much do you know about it?" Jake asked, and quickly clarified. "The SQUIP-thing. Like, have you done any research on it?"

Michael nodded. "As much as I can; there's _nothing_ on the internet about it," he said. "My sources so far have been a SQUIP dealer who works at Payless, someone I play Warcraft with, and a guy from a 'dark-web' forum who said he wanted to ' _share some info_ ,' then sent me several pictures of his dick."

"Sounds fun," Jake replied sarcastically.

"It was," Michael joked. "Why'd you ask?"

Jake shrugged. "I dunno, just wondering, I guess." He glanced at the still-open door. "I should go back to rehearsal."

"Yeah, I guess," Michael said, frowning. "The play's tomorrow, isn't it?"

"Tomorrow, then we do it again on Thursday," Jake answered. "Reyes wanted to get Friday, too, but band apparently has a concert that day and just _refused_ to budge. It was wild, Reyes got into a huge argument with Ms. Johnston, the band teacher."

"Yikes."

"Yeah, _yikes_ ," Jake repeated. "Are you, like, gonna come, or…"

"No," Michael answered shortly. "It's—uh—It's not like I don't want to or anything, I just—"

"It's okay if you don't want to. Honestly, I don't really want to either, so, yeah." Jake shrugged a shoulder. "How long are you gonna be here?"

Michael shrugged. "'Til the custodians kick me out, I guess. I'd work on this at home, but my moms are really, like, over-enthusiastic when it comes to my art? I can't go two seconds without hearing ' _oh Mikey, that looks amazing!_ ' I dunno, it just makes me kinda nervous."

Jake smiled. _That sounded wonderful._ He wished his parents cared that much about what he was doing. He wished his parents cared _at all_.

"Uh, anyway, I should go," Jake said, reaching for his crutches, but fumbling with his grip and knocking them over. He blinked as they clattered to the floor, letting out a quiet, "Oh."

Michael got up and grabbed them, squatting down and holding them out towards Jake.

"Sorry," Jake muttered, reaching over to take them.

"It's no problem," Michael replied, standing back up. He looked at Jake cautiously. "You're good, right?"

Jake grabbed onto the handles and stood up. "Yeah, I'm good. Just," he let out a quick sigh, "having a day."

Michael moved to go sit back down, but stopped next to Jake, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, um, if anything happens, with Jeremy or whatever, I'm open to talk."

"Thanks, Mike," Jake said. "I really appreciate that."

Michael let out a quiet chuckle, lightly patting Jake's shoulder. "Well, it's not like I have anything better to do."

 _Well, that was a mood-killer._ "Yeah," Jake responded. "Well, I actually should go now, so, yeah."

Michael nodded, removing his hand, and Jake made his way out the door. He looked back, for a moment, at Michael sitting back down at the table, the fluorescent lighting reflecting against his glasses and obscuring his eyes.

Jake waved a silent goodbye, on the off-chance that Michael was looking at him. But, he doubted it.

\---

The rest of rehearsal went by well-enough. Nobody had mentioned Jake's outburst, seemingly ignoring it in order to keep things productive. And Jeremy hadn't said anything, aside from his actual lines, so Jake really didn't have anything to be worried about.

Not to say he wasn't still worried the entire time, because he very much _was_ , but that was neither here nor there.

At around 5:55, Christine called everyone together, double-checking that everyone knew that call time the next day was 5:00, and triple-checking that everyone had put their props away in the correct place. Jake listened vaguely, ready to get out of rehearsal and just go back to the condo. Maybe rant to Sbarro about how his day was going. Maybe call a Lyft and sneak off to Michael's. Maybe both.

When rehearsal finally ended, and Christine dismissed everyone, Jake practically sprinted to Brooke's car (or, at least, as close to "sprinted" as he could get, with his crutches). He leaned against the door of the ash-grey Prius, tapping the back of his head against the window.

He heard the "click-click" of the unlocking doors and entered.

"Someone's eager," Brooke commented, getting into the driver's seat.

Jake let out a short, fake, laugh. "Gotta get home. There's a tennis game on tonight," he lied. "Serena Williams; don't wanna miss it."

Brooke started the car, checking her rearview mirror before backing out of the parking space. "So it's a hard pass on going out for smoothies?"

"Yeah, I'm not really in a smoothie mood today," Jake shrugged, leaning back in the seat, but _ugh_ , Brooke really must have been upset. He was glad that he knew what she was planning – or else, he probably would've agreed to it. But Brooke's " _you did something stupid, so let's go talk about it over smoothies and/or ice cream_ " schtick was far from original. And Jake wasn't in the mood to talk about it.

Brooke simply sighed in response, and they spent the rest of the car ride in silence.


	6. Backstage (Don't Ask)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The much-anticipated first performance of "A Midsummer Nightmare About Zombies" arrives, but Jake finds himself less-than-thrilled. Jake has an encounter in the dressing room.

Jake couldn't pinpoint when exactly he stopped being excited for the play.

Maybe it was after Christine dumped him. Maybe it was after running through it for the first time on crutches. Maybe it was after running through it for the first time without Rich. Or, maybe it was Jeremy's fault (Jake rather liked that option).

Either way, by the time that five o' clock rolled around on that Wednesday afternoon, and Jake entered the auditorium to get ready, it just felt so tedious.

The show was to start at 7:15, but the cast was supposed to arrive two hours prior. Key word being _supposed_. Jake and Christine were the only two there on time. Which—that was _fine_. Jake had no problem with that, aside from the fact that he really _did_.

The two of them hadn't talked— _really talked_ —since Halloween. Since Christine had dumped him and vanished. He could still hear their parting conversation in his mind.

**_"Jake, I can't do this," Christine had said. "I like you, but it—It's like you don't even care about our relationship!"_ **

_"I do care,"_ Jake had wanted to say, but was too drunk or too stupid to speak. _"I care so so much."_

He watched her, sitting on the stage with her legs dangling over the edge as she read through the script that Jake was almost certain she'd memorized forward and back. She mouthed the words to herself silently, emoting when appropriate. So caught up in her reading, Jake was unsure that she'd even noticed his arrival.

He cleared his throat, and she looked over to him.

"Oh, you're here," she greeted, not smiling, but not really frowning either.

"Yeah, I," Jake checked the time on his phone, "I think I'm a few minutes late, but—"

"That's fine," Christine said. "You're still the first person here besides me, so, yeah you're fine."

"Yeah." Jake nodded. He glanced around the auditorium. "Where's Reyes?"

Christine sighed out a laugh. "He had to go to the store to get new, _plastic_ , beakers for the Pansy Serum. The old ones—uh—one of the sousaphones from band came backstage to grab something and just—" she clapped her hands vertically "—knocked 'em all over, and they shattered."

"Oh?" Jake breathed out. "That sucks."

Then, she did frown. "Yeah."

Jake tried to change the subject immediately. "So, is there anything I can do to help set up?" Christine opened her mouth to speak, and Jake noticed her eyes flicker to the casts in his legs. "Like, could I fold programs or something?"

"We already folded them in class."

"Oh," Jake sighed. "Well, I could, uh, I could go through the props. Make sure we have everything."

"I already have," Christine said, and just as Jake opened his mouth to speak again, she cut him off. "You don't have to do anything," she assured. "You're fine."

"Yeah, I—" Jake cut himself off, looking down at the stage for a moment. "I'm fine, yeah. I'm gonna go get ready."

So, he went to the dressing room, sat down in a swiveling chair and stared at the desk.

\---

Jake glanced at the time on his phone: 7 o' clock, even.

There were fifteen minutes left until showtime. Christine had given her pre-show pep-talk to everyone (surreptitiously avoiding telling them to "break legs," which Jake found kind of sweet), the audience had begun to take their seats, Jeremy was nowhere to be seen, and Jake was sitting alone in the boys' dressing room.

That was, until Chloe walked in.

The creaking of the door caused Jake to turn around, swiveling his chair with a grating squeak.

"Hey, what's up?" he greeted.

Chloe waltzed over to him, one hand held behind her back, hiding something. "Not much; how're you doing?"

"I'm alright," Jake responded, and Chloe leaned over him, trailing her free hand up his arm. "You're not s'posed to be in here, you know Reyes would flip his shit if he saw you."

Chloe laughed in response. "You don't need to worry about Reyes seeing me."

"Oh?" Jake huffed out a laugh. "And why's that?"

Chloe grinned, but it didn't reach her eyes. "He's already taken care of." She leaned further forward, cradling Jake's chin in her hand.

Jake cringed at the contact, rolling his chair backwards.  He raised an eyebrow at her strange statement. " _Um_ ," he muttered. "Oh- _kay_ then." His eyes wandered to her hidden arm. "What's behind your back?"

"Oh this?" Chloe responded, revealing the item to be a small beaker filled with a fizzy green liquid with a few small oblong shapes littering the bottom. "It's the Pansy Serum, or _whatever_ it's called. Jenna thought it'd be good to use Mountain Dew for it, but, like, I know you don't like really sweet drinks, so I watered it down." She held it out towards Jake. "Could you test it? I don't want you to, like, throw up on stage or anything."

Jake looked at the bottle, then back to Chloe, then back at the bottle again. "What's at the bottom?"

"Tic-tacs," Chloe answered shortly. "I dunno, Reyes thought it made it look more ' _zombie-ish_ ,' or whatever. You know how he is."

Jake shrugged. "All right, I guess." He took the bottle, and swirled it around a bit in his hand. "Y'know, you could've just opened with that."

He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a large sip, the sickeningly sweet taste of the hardly-watered-down beverage making him gag, although he managed to swallow.

He coughed, feeling one of the Tic-tacs hitting the back of his throat. " _God_ , that tastes so bad. But—like—better than the alternative, I guess?"

Chloe hastily grabbed the beaker back. "Well, that's good. I gotta get ready to go on, so, see you on stage!"

And, just like that, she left.

Jake let out a long, drawn-out sigh and took a sip from the water bottle on the makeup counter, trying his damnedest to get that horrible taste out of his mouth. He let his mind wander for a moment, a tired, vague thought poking in the back of his mind.

Or, no, something else was poking in the back of his mind. Something literal. And, it hurt.

Jake rubbed at the back of his head, but it didn't help. It was as if whatever it was had burrowed its way into his skull. Then, it started to creep downward, like a knife slicing down his spine. Although, it wasn't really a slicing sort of pain, it was _burning_ —like he was on _fire_ —something was wrong—something was _very wrong_ —

Then, a voice: monotone, unfeeling.

**_Calibration in progress. Please excuse some mild discomfort._ **

From there, it rapidly got worse. It was like, suddenly, a white-hot energy had taken hold of him, electricity surging through his veins. His muscles seized, and next thing he knew, he was on the floor, his entire body wracked with spasms. He screamed— " _HELP!_ FUCK _—PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP ME!_ " —but nobody came to his aid.

**_Calibration complete._ **

It cooled down, for a moment, and Jake let himself relax on the floor, rolling over onto his back and gasping for air as if emerging from a deep pool of oil. He rubbed at his face, cold tears smearing across his hand. He'd hardly made a movement to sit up when he heard the voice again.

**_Access procedure initiated. Discomfort level may increase._ **

Jake only had time to squeak out a quiet, " _what?_ " before a second wave of agonizing pain came over him. He tried to call for help, but any semblance of that idea was quashed simply because he _couldn't stop_ _screaming_. And the creepy, monotone voice wouldn't go away, droning on:

**_Accessing: neural memory. Accessing: muscle memory._ **

Jake gripped at his head, his fingers knotting themselves up in his hair. He managed cry out, "STOP, _STOP!_ WHATEVER THE _FUCK_ YOU _ARE_ , JUST _PLEASE_ MAKE IT _STOP!_ "

**_Access procedure complete._ **

And, just like that, it stopped.

Jake blinked, his vision still fuzzy (either clouded from tears, or pain, or both), and rolled onto his side, heaving in breaths that strained against his chest. A pair of metallic heeled boots blocked his view of the wall. He blinked again, and looked up.

 There stood a woman, or, what appeared to be one. She wore a white ruffled dress, patterned with subtle shades of grey, underneath a white bomber jacket with black accents. Her pitch black hair served as a stark contrast to her pale white complexion, neatly cropped at her shoulders with bangs draped across her forehead.

She spoke softly, looking down at him.

**Jacob Dillinger. Welcome to your Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor.**

Jake furrowed his brow, mostly in confusion. "M—My _what_?"

**Your SQUIP.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed these past two chapters! sorry about the cliffhanger haha... chapter seven is gonna be a bit longer than normal, but the draft is almost done, so you shouldn't have to wait TOO long for it.
> 
> make sure to kudos and comment, i love you guys !!


	7. (Don't Take the) Upgrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake tries to get rid of his SQUIP. Things don't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanna say i took some creative liberties with the dialogue for this chapter b/c i didn't want to use song lyrics for dialogue.
> 
> thank you for reading, make sure to kudos and comment if you enjoyed !! love you all so much !!

And, to think, Jake had assumed his week wouldn't get any worse. That the play would fly by without incident and he would be able to just go back to his life. But, two words later, and there he was, in a panic on the dressing room floor, crouching underneath the counter with his back pinned against the wall and the not-at-all-soothing sounds of, "calm down, relax, stop," permeating through his mind.

"I—I will _not_ fucking calm down!" Jake yelled at her— _it—_ after a few minutes. "You—You have absolutely no right to tell me to calm down!"

 **Your heart rate has risen by over forty percent,** it informed him. **Jacob, you—**

Jake cut it off. "Don't—Don't call me that." Nobody had called him " _Jacob_ " since before he'd moved to Menlo Park, over six years ago. Hearing his "real" name now, it was just _weird_. Yet, still, that was probably the least weird thing about this situation.

 **I don't do nicknames, Jacob.** It paused thoughtfully. **You are panicking.**

Jake hissed out a breath, "I realized that." He managed to look up at it, though the top of its head was obscured by the countertop. "I just got—I got fucking supercomputer roofied! Of course I'm _panicking_! What did you expect would happen?"

 **Well,** it said. **I had no consciousness until only a few minutes ago, therefore I could not expect anything.**

A pause. Jake rapped his nails against the floor, unsure of what to say.

It spoke for him. **You want me gone.**

"Yes," Jake stated. "How do I get you out?"

**I can tell you—**

" _Oh thank god_ ," Jake muttered under his breath.

 **— _however_ , I must know, **it continued. **Are you _certain_ that you want to get rid of me?**

"Obviously." Jake glared at the wall behind it. "You fucked over Rich, you fucked over Jeremy, and I'm not gonna let you fuck over me."

 **How eloquent,** it quipped, but relented nonetheless. **To get rid of me, all you need to do is take Mountain Dew Red. However, it is discontinued, so it will be rather difficult to…** It watched as Jake immediately began maneuvering himself back onto the chair, using both it and one of his crutches for support. **What are you doing?**

"I'm calling Michael, I'm gonna tell him how to get rid of you, then I'm gonna get rid of you," Jake answered, looking over the table. "Mike's got weird-ass sodas. Maybe he…" He paused, looking over the table a second time, then a third. "Where's my phone?"

 **He won't answer, you know,** the SQUIP said matter-of-factly. **His phone is on silent.**

"Oh, yeah?" Jake responded. "And how do you know that?"

 **The show is about to begin,** it said. **Therefore, observing the rules of live theatre, Michael has silenced his phone.**

"Michael's not here," Jake shot back, turning over items on the table in a fruitless vain. " _God,_ where is it?"

 **False. I am accessing the auditorium's security cameras,** it explained. **Michael is currently sitting in the back row of the auditorium, seat AA17.**

"If you know all that, could you tell me where I put my phone?" Jake asked, turning around. And, for the first time getting a good look at the SQUIP's projected form, he realized something. "You look like Carly Rae Jepsen?"

It looked down at itself. **I believe I do.** And, before Jake could ask his next question, it continued. **I am programmed to present myself to you in a form which you are more likely to be persuaded by. Carly Rae Jepsen is the default. Other options include: James Van Der Beek, Sarah Dillinger, Air Bud, R—**

"Okay okay _okay_ ," Jake cut it off. "Whatever, I don't care. _Where_ is my phone?"

Jake felt a sudden compulsion to his left, where, on the counter, sat his phone, partially obscured by a plastic bag. He picked it up immediately, the SQUIP muttering a **you're welcome** at him as he scrolled to Michael's contact. The phone rang, and rang, and rang—

" _This is Michael. You know what to do after the—_ " the tone sounded.

"God—ugh—fuck— _seriously_?" Jake took a moment and took a breath. "Mike, okay, so I don't—Fuck, I—"

**Do you need help?**

"I do _not_ need help, fuck you!" Jake snapped at it, but regained composure. "Actually, Mike, uh, I _do_ need help, um, from _you_. It's—like—" He cut himself off, letting out a deep sigh. "I can't think right now, just— _please_ —call back as soon as you can." He set the phone down.

A pause, then, **That was terrible.**

Jake leaned into the table, letting out an irritated groan. "I know."

**I could have helped you.**

"Don't care," Jake responded, drawing out the last word.

Another pause, longer. Jake tapped on the table relentlessly, waiting for Michael to call back, or at _least_ text.

The SQUIP spoke once again. **Jacob.**

" _What_?" he snapped back, annoyed.

**The curtain is rising.**

Jake stared down at the table. "Good for the curtain."

 **The play is starting,** it elaborated. **Your cue is rapidly approaching, and you are not in the correct location.**

Jake picked at the countertop, ignoring the SQUIP and reaching his hand towards his phone again. When his hand reached the plastic case, he felt a sudden jolt in his wrist and reeled back.

"Ow! Fuck, what—" He turned around looking at the SQUIP directly. "Did you just shock me?"

It did not answer, only responding, **Your cue is approaching. You need to go to the wings and prepare to be on stage.**

"What I _need_ is to get rid of _you_ ," Jake said, reaching again for his phone. "I'll just tell Chris what's going on—" he pulled his wrist back again "— _ow!_ Stop that!"

 **My job is to improve your quality of life,** it continued. **The path you are currently taking _will_ _not_ do so.**

Jake groaned through gritted teeth, rubbing his wrist. "I don't need you to ' _improve my quality of life._ '"

 **But I am _here_ , **it insisted. **I can help you—**

"I don't want the help!" He reached for his phone again: another shock, this one worse. " _God!_ "

 ** _Get up_ , **it ordered. **Your cue is about to arrive.**

Jake glared at its holographic reflection in the mirror. " _No._ "

 **Jacob,** it said, louder, the sound reverberating in his mind. **Get. Up. Your cue is—**

"Shut up! _SHUT UP!_ " Jake screamed. "I don't care about the cue! I don't care about the play! Just leave me _ALONE!_ " He whipped around to face the SQUIP directly, a fiery glare in his eyes. However, the glare quickly softened upon seeing another figure out of the corner of his eye.

There, body peeking through the door with tears welled up in her eyes: _Christine_.

She bolted, the door slamming shut behind her, and Jake swore he heard he whimpering.

Jake was up in an instant. "Wait, no, _wait!_ " He opened the door and looked out, but she was nowhere to be seen. He backed up, closing the door and turning to his SQUIP, whose expression was blank. "You did this on _purpose!_ "

 **False. _I_ told you to leave,** it contradicted. **If you had listened to me, then _that_ would not have happened.** It paused. **_And_ you missed your cue. _Lovely_.**

"I gotta apologize to her," Jake said, rushing out the door, only to find the hallway empty: No sign of Christine. He let out a short sigh, defeated, but then another thought came to mind. He turned to the SQUIP. "You—" he pointed a finger at it. "You said you can look at the security cameras or whatever, right? Where'd she go?"

A pause, then, **Left.**

Jake followed its direction, through the hallway and towards backstage entrance. He paused at the door, hearing two loud, combative voices arguing on the other side. Two voices that were very obviously _not_ speaking in iambic pentameter.

He felt something, the SQUIP compelling him forward, and he obliged, entering the backstage to a rather… _different_ sight.

On the floor in a chokehold, Jeremy, struggling and writhing like a feral animal caught in a trap. Behind him, chokeholding, was Michael, cradling a red-tinted two-liter bottle in his other arm. He and Jake locked eyes, and a look of relief washed over his face.

"Jake!" he exclaimed. "This is gonna sound weird, but if I hold down Jeremy, could you make him drink this Mountain Dew Red?" He tossed Jake the two-liter.

Jake caught it, eyeing the bottle, calmed slightly by its presence. "Actually," he responded, smiling, somewhat surprised that his SQUIP wasn't making any attempt to stop him. "That doesn't sound weird at all."

There was a slight pause, Jake opening the bottle, but he'd hardly begun screwing the top off before something else grabbed his attention: Jeremy. He was frozen, like a deer in headlights, staring transfixed at something to Jake's right. It was _weird_.

Suddenly, Jeremy jolted upright, Michael continuing to restrain him. He yelped out, " _No!_ "

As if on cue, an abrupt electric shock bolted up Jake's spine. He hissed out in pain.

Except, he _didn't_. He _thought_ he did, but no sound had come out of his mouth. In fact, his lips didn't even twitch.

 _"What the hell?"_ he tried to say, but nothing happened. He tried again, and _again_ , and _again_ to speak, but it was as if his brain and mouth had ceased all communication. Or, like there was something else severing the connection.

But he didn't have time to dwell on that, as someone else drew his attention. Michael was staring at him with horrified, yet pleading eyes, saying something, but Jake couldn't understand it under Jeremy's incoherent yelling.

Although, it was only then that Jake noticed he had moved. Not _much_ , no, but he certainly had. He was further now from Michael and Jeremy, and his position had changed, one arm outstretched to his side, grasping the bottle of Mountain Dew Red upside-down in his hand, the red liquid pouring out onto the floor.

 _Fuck! What the fuck!_ Jake thought as he attempted to turn the bottle back upright, to no avail. He couldn't even feel the plastic against his palm. He couldn't feel _anything_.

His head turned itself back to Michael against his will, a confident smirk masking the absolute panic going on underneath the surface. Jake heard the empty bottle clatter to the floor. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Michael's voice was trembling. " _Jake_ …?"

Jake heard himself laugh. "It's great, right?" he said. "I thought I was pretty boss _before_ , but, _now_? I can do _anything_." His plastered smile grew wider. " _Plus,_ check this out!" Jake heard another clatter, this one much louder, and noticed a hint of grey in his peripheral vision.

 _Did…_ Jake internally raised an eyebrow. _Did I just throw my crutches on the floor?_

He heard Jeremy gasp. "It healed your legs?"

"Nope!" Jake's confident voice rang out. "But I can't feel pain anymore, which is, like, _awesome!_ "

Jake's apprehension, unsurprisingly, didn't show on his face. He wasn't a doctor, but he was almost certain that walking on broken legs wasn't exactly a good idea. Why was the SQUIP letting this happen? Was his SQUIP _making_ this happen?

It was irritating: When he wanted the SQUIP to leave him alone, it kept pestering him, but when he needed it to explain whatever the _fuck_ was going on, it was nowhere to be seen. Or heard. Or _anything_.

Jake saw Brooke and Chloe enter past him, and then, _finally_ , he heard it.

 **You called?** It sounded different, somehow. Its voice was more distorted and robotic. Less Carly Rae Jepsen, and more GLaDOS from Portal.

Unable to speak, Jake attempted to think at it, asking in plainest terms, _What the absolute fuck is going on?_

 **Our desires have been synced with those of one Jeremiah Heere,** it explained.

 _Oh?_ Jake thought back. _And what does that have to with me dumping my one ticket out of here onto the floor? What happened to "you can get rid of me?"_

**To become compatible with Jeremiah's SQUIP, I am afraid some compromises have been made.**

_Compromises?_

**There will be time to explain further, but there are more important tasks at hand.**

And it was gone again, Jake growing both more frustrated and more freaked out. The thing had only raised more questions. What did it mean to become "compatible" with another SQUIP? What "desires" did Jake have to sync with? Jeremy's full first name was _Jeremiah_?

Jake's body was moving again, although it was hard to focus on whatever the SQUIP was making him do, with his entire body numb and no way to look around.

He could see Michael, shoving Brooke out of the way and lunging for the empty Mountain Dew Red bottle. He grabbed it, but it was hardly a success, as Jenna Rolan emerged from the shadows in front of him and, startled, he backed up directly into Jake, who grabbed Michael's arms, restraining him.

" _Michael_ ," Jenna said teasingly, in a singsong voice. "I know what you're doing! I know what _everybody's_ doing! _All the time!_ "

Jenna approached closer, but Michael had thought ahead, shoving Jake backwards and escaping his grasp, only to find his escape route blocked by Chloe. And, on the other side, Brooke. It was obvious; he was trapped.

Jenna placed two fingers on her throat, a content grin on her face. Jake saw his arm go through the same motion, along with the rest of the cast. His voice blended in with four others.

" _I just feel so connected to you guys right now!_ "

His arm snapped back to his side. _What the hell?_

He heard Jeremy call out: "Michael!"

Michael appeared desperate, clutching the Red bottle to his chest like a lifeline as Jake and the others steadily descended upon him – like zombies in one of those shitty horror B-movies that Rich used to watch.

Jake watched his arm reach out to grab the bottle, but Michael was faster, shouting out a quick, "Jeremy! Catch!" before throwing Red to him.

Jake couldn't turn around to see if Jeremy had caught it, but the lack of any audible panic from Jeremy hinted that he did. But, Jake had bigger things to worry about. He watched himself grab Michael and shove him to the ground. Chloe and Brooke joined him, grabbing Michael's arms and pinning them down. Frantic thoughts raced through Jake's head.

 _What the hell are they—are_ we _going to do to him?_

The voice returned. **Well, Jacob,** it said. **We are going to help him.**

That was when Jake saw Jenna walking over to him with a beaker of whatever the hell Chloe had made him drink. The same Pansy Serum that had given Jake his SQUIP. Jenna handed it to Jake, who took it graciously, and turned to Michael.

"Jake, _please_ ," Michael begged, struggling against the girls' iron grips. "You—You don't wanna do this, right? You can fight it!"

For once, Jake heard his voice parrot his thoughts, although he still wasn't in control. "What makes you think that?"

"Because I—" Michael paused, furrowing his brow. "I believe in you?" he squeaked out unconfidently.

 _Great help_ , Jake thought. If his body was not, at the time, being puppeteered by a maniacal supercomputer, he'd be slow-clapping.

But there was no time to dwell on the thought, because Jake immediately found himself reaching out, attempting to pry open Michael's jaw, although it didn't appear to be working. Michael, in turn, attempted to jerk his head out of Jake's grip, although it also did not appear to be working. They were at a stalemate, the only question being: who would crack first?

It was at that moment that Jake saw something out of his peripheral vision. A reddish blur, then a soft grunt, and Michael had freed his left arm from Brooke's restraint.

However, Jake didn't get to process this information, for Michael immediately sent his freed fist flying directly into Jake's face.

The punch was _hard_ , something that Jake didn't exactly expect from someone like Michael. Jake could hear it, Michael's knuckles slamming into his cheekbone, the impact reverberating throughout his entire body.

Then he heard something else. A quiet clatter, and the sound of spilling liquid. He'd dropped the beaker.

Jake's head turned back to Michael, still pinned with Brooke struggling to get a hold on his left arm. Jake's eyes glanced back to the spilled beaker, which Jake noticed still retained a "tic-tac" and a few drops of Mountain Dew.

Jake felt something, as if he could hear his SQUIP's thoughts. He knew what it was planning.

 _No_ , he thought. _I won't let you_.

It didn't respond, already moving his arm towards the beaker. Jake struggled, trying to move his arm back, or at least stop its motion, but it wasn't working. His hand wrapped around the beaker and Jake tried to gain control, but it was a lot like trying to silence your alarm clock across the room without getting out of bed – ultimately impossible and only leading to a ludicrous headache.

He heard it speak. **Stop struggling, Jacob. You're only hurting yourself.**

But he didn't stop—He _wouldn't_ stop. Not until it was gone. Not until Michael was safe.

It was then that Jake heard a noise. A subtle, quiet, static-y sound that everyone else seemed to react to as well, blinking or otherwise flinching.

It was then that Jake realized: he'd blinked. _He_ had _blinked_.

Jake was overcome, flooded with relief. He could finally move his body again, though the all-consuming numbness didn't dissipate as immediately. Though, considering Jake had spent the last several minutes walking on his broken legs, he thought that might have been a blessing in disguise.

He turned to Michael, still on the floor, looking around confused. The girls had let go of him, focuses turned to the other side of the room, presumably at Jeremy, and he seemed lost on what exactly to do.

Jake opened his mouth to speak but was silenced when another noise completely overtook the space: a scream. Jake turned around, but was brought right back when he heard a loud thud as Brooke dropped to her knees and let out a similar shriek. Then Chloe did the same.

 Michael practically leapt forward, away from the two screaming girls and over to Jake's right, muttering a startled, " _What the fuck!_ "

Jake looked at him, trying to come up with something to say to help. He put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, although it only caused Michael to recoil back at the touch.

"Mike," Jake started, "I—"

Then, he heard it. An impossibly loud and indescribably horrific sound that sent a sudden stab of pain through his skull. He gripped his forehead, gritting his teeth in pain, but it only seemed to get louder as the stabbing pain in his head transferred and transformed throughout his entire being—as if his entire body were being torn to shreds, atom-by-atom.

And so, he screamed, collapsing onto the floor and pressing himself into it as though that would somehow ease the relentless metallic screech that enveloped his entire mind. He wound his fingers in his hair, tugging at it as if to distract himself, and he _screamed_ like he was dying. Maybe he _was_ dying; maybe this was what it was like to die. For a moment, Jake hoped so. At least, if he was dying, he _knew_ the pain would end.

It felt like hours had gone by, maybe years, but just as suddenly as it had all began, it stopped.

Jake was lulled into unconsciousness by the sound of a lone scream: Michael.


	8. And We're Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake enjoys another stay at Beth Israel, and he and Michael try to make sense of what happened at the play, and where to go from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowee it's been a while, hasn't it?
> 
> sorry i've kept you all waiting, depression and school have been kicking me in the ass as of late and it's been hard to motivate myself to write anything. plus, i didn't have a solid plan for where i wanted the story to go post-play, so that didn't exactly help. i started and restarted this chapter probably ten times, and eventually gave up for about a month because i just had no idea what i was doing. 
> 
> but, i'm finally getting back into the swing of things, i have a plan, and i am DETERMINED to finish this bad boy to its conclusion!
> 
> thank you all for being so patient with me, and happy opening be more chill !!

Jake woke up to the sound of a heart monitor.

He opened his eyes slowly, the lights far brighter than he thought they were and his eyelids far heavier than he wanted them to be. There were tiles on the ceiling – white, with little navy-blue specs in them – bordered with a dull grey plastic. The color reminded him of something unclear. He coughed.

He let his head fall to his right; the area under his eye felt sore from the pressure of the pillow – it was bruised? _Weird_. He saw two chairs with cushions wrapped in plastic, and a linoleum floor. There was a sign on the wall that he couldn't read and a bag on the chair that he didn't own, but he did recognize.

In fact, he recognized a lot about the whole scene, as his hazy thoughts were hit with the worst case of déjà vu, and he only had one question on his mind:

_Why am I back in the hospital?_

He didn't remember any car or ambulance ride. He didn't remember getting seriously injured or sick. The last thing he remembered was being at the school, getting ready for the play. Then the play started, and he…

_No, that's not right._

Something else had happened, before the play. Something had happened – _what happened?_

"Jacob Dillinger?"

Jake jumped slightly at the sound of the voice. Looking up, he saw it was only a nurse that had entered the room, and felt strangely relieved. He said something, but his thoughts were so jumbled he wasn't sure what exactly came out.

"It's a shame to see you back here so soon, Mr. Dillinger." The woman's voice was soft, yet authoritative, and for some reason it made Jake feel sick.

She asked a bunch of questions and rattled off statistics that didn't make any sense to Jake. Something about a surgery on his legs that he'd gotten while unconscious (there was a metal rod in one of his legs now, which Jake didn't know whether to find cool or disturbing), something else about billing ("But I'm sure your parents can cover that."). The only thing Jake really learned was that he'd been asleep for the past 18 hours, which was troubling.

The woman checked his IV, set a cup of water on the desk next to the bed, then left Jake to be alone once again.

He leaned his head back into the pillow, letting out a breath and closing his eyes.

\---

Some time had passed – ten minutes, probably, or maybe an hour; Jake wasn't really paying attention, far more important things on his mind.

A pair of footsteps rustled Jake from his rest, but only added to his headache. He hoped it was the nurse; he needed more painkillers – or maybe just stronger ones.  

He heard a soft voice whispering, "Hey, man. Are you awake?"

Jake opened his eyes to an unexpected, but comforting, sight: Michael, in his familiar red hoodie, standing at his bedside. He had heavy bags under his eyes and Jake could hear the faintest croak in his voice – it was obvious: he hadn't slept.

Jake let out a soft sigh. "Reluctantly." He tried to sit up, but winced as he was hit with a wave of ache from his legs.

"Oh," Michael reacted, making a slight move towards the door. "Should—Should I get a nurse?"

"No. No," Jake said forcefully, moving himself to a more upright position with some struggle. "It's fine." He looked back up at Michael, noticing the apprehensive look on his face. "What? Is it that bad?"

Michael fidgeted with sleeve of his left arm. "No, no. I just…" He winced. "Your _eye_ …"

"Is it really swollen?" Jake asked. "I haven't gotten to look in a mirror since I woke up."

"Oh, uh, here." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Jake, the front-facing camera turned on. Upon seeing Jake's disgusted expression, he remarked, "It's not _that_ bad. In my opinion, at least. But, like…"

"God, what did I _do_?" Jake muttered, observing his swollen eye, the bruise spreading down below his right cheekbone. Unable to look at it anymore, he held the phone back out to Michael.

Michael took it, putting it in his pocket, and Jake noticed a confused expression on his face. "Do you not remember what happened?"

"Some of it," Jake shrugged, making a so-so gesture with his hand. "I remember, like," he hummed in concentration, gathering his thoughts, "Okay, so, Chloe tricked me into taking a SQUIP, and it told me to take Mountain Dew Red to get rid of it. And then I, um…" He paused, narrowing his eyes and deciding to skip the desperate-phone-call segment of the story. "Anyway, I had to go apologize to Christine 'cause I kinda blew up at her." He furrowed his brow. "No, uh, I blew up at the _SQUIP_ and she happened to be there, and she was upset. Then I ran into you and Jeremy."

 A sigh escaped his lips. "From there, it's pretty fuzzy. I remember that I couldn't do anything—my SQUIP was controlling my body. It made me walk on my broken legs. Then it made me…" His eyes widened in realization, a sudden pit forming in his stomach. "Shit, you don't have one now, do you?"

"No," Michael started. "I, uh, punched you in the face and you dropped the beaker. Hence the, um," he gestured to his own right eye, then awkwardly cleared his throat. "Yeah. Then Jeremy gave Christine the Mountain Dew Red and everyone started screaming."

"Right." He paused. "Wait, if Christine was the only one to get any Red, then why—"

"Oh, man it's crazy!" Michael exclaimed. "So, they were linked, right? And when you think about the kind of high-frequency signal that you'd need to wipe a system that huge, it's—"

"Mike," Jake cut him off, bluntly stating, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Michael let out a weak chuckle. "Right, so, since all the SQUIPs were linked, it turned out you didn't have to get rid of them all individually. You just had to get rid of one, and the rest went with it."

Jake nodded. "Like dominoes, but with computers."

Michael shrugged, somewhat puzzled. "I mean, you _could_ say it like that?"

"I know I was out longer 'cause of my surgery or whatever," Jake said, moving on. "But how's everyone else? Are they okay? Is Christine okay?"

"Everyone's fine," Michael assured, but then clarified with, " _physically_ , at least. I have no idea how they're doing otherwise."

"Where are they?"

"Chloe woke up while everyone was getting loaded onto ambulances," Michael explained, "and I think she just went home after the EMTs checked her vitals." He fiddled with one of the strings of his hoodie as he spoke. "Brooke was cleared, like, right when she got here, and Christine was cleared kinda early this morning." He paused. "She—uh—she came to check on you, by the way. She wanted to make sure you knew that."

Jake nodded in response, a slight smile gracing his lips. "That's nice of her." He looked down, running over Michael's words in his head and noticing a pretty substantial omission. "How's Jeremy?" he asked cautiously.

"He—" Michael sucked in a breath. "He'll be fine." He looked away from Jake, picking at a loose thread at the bottom of his jacket. "He hasn't woken up yet, but…" He swallowed hard. "He'll be fine."

"Why hasn't he woken up?" Jake asked.

"They don't know," Michael answered, frowning. "All his vitals are normal, and his MRI came back clear, and every other thing they've tested for has come back negative." He tugged at the bottom of his hoodie anxiously. "He _should_ be awake by now, but he just," he sighed, " _isn't_."

Jake listened, unsure of what to say. Michael was obviously upset, and Jake didn't know how to deal with that. But, still, he had to at least _try_.

"I'm sure he'll wake any minute now," Jake said in attempted assurance. "I bet he's just waiting so he can one-up me on coma length."

Michael let out a halfhearted chuckle, a small smile creeping its way onto his face. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Jake looked at him, smiling in return, both at Michael's comment and the slight relaxation in his shoulders, and the way he not-so-subtly covered his mouth when he laughed. And the way the corner of his mouth twitched up on the word "sure." It was charming.

"So, anyone else come to visit?" Jake asked.

Michael shrugged in response. "I have no idea. I haven't been here very long, and, like, I've been sitting in on Jeremy for most of it."

Jake nodded subtly, turning his gaze towards the floor. Maybe it was the influence of the painkillers, or maybe just his regular impulsivity, but he just couldn't stop himself from asking:

"So, are you and Jeremy, like, good now?" Michael raised an eyebrow, and Jake clarified. "After everything he did?"

Michael bit his lip, looking away. He tugged at the end of one of his sleeves, stretching and snapping back the elastic cuff. "I don't know," he sighed out. "As much as I kind of _want_ to stay mad at him, I just don't know if I can. I mean, we've been best friends for _twelve years_. I don't think I'm willing to throw all of that away over this."

Jake shrugged, understanding Michael's side, though, he wasn't sure how much he agreed with him. He chalked it up to his own bias and said nothing.

"Besides," Michael continued. "I'm worried about him, y'know? About what that _thing_ did to him."

Jake hummed in response, rubbing his wrist. He wondered if Jeremy's SQUIP shocked him. For a moment, he wondered if it had done anything worse, but the thought made him feel sick and he pushed it back down.

"But, anyway," Michael said, brushing the topic aside with a wave of his hand. "How are you holding up?"

"That's a loaded question," Jake replied, chucking slightly and avoiding eye contact. "But, fine, I guess. Don't think things are much different than they were two days ago." Though, his life two days ago was drastically different than his life one week ago, so, it was really a moot point.

"Gonna suck being on crutches longer?" Michael asked.

"Actually, doc hasn't told me how much longer I'll be needing 'em, so, who knows?" Jake hesitated before adding, "But, yeah, walking on broken legs probably didn't, like, speed up my recovery, or whatever."

"Probably not."

There was a tense pause, then Jake commented, "But, hey! At least I have you and Brooke to shuttle me around 'til I'm back on my feet."

Michael's eyes widened for a moment, but he smiled wanly. "Of course, yeah."

\---

Jake's second stay at the hospital was hardly longer than the first. He spent his first night post-coma stuck in his room "for observation," although from his doctor's condescending tone, he could tell it was mostly because they feared he would have another episode and break his legs even _more_ (though, at this point, Jake questioned if that was even possible). He was shocked that no one had mentioned shipping him off to some kind of institution, but he supposed Michael's (pretty dumb) excuse of an "ecstasy overdose" had done everyone a favor.

Speaking of favors, Michael, as Jake's sole visitor during his stay, had offered to drive him back to the condo. Jake looked forward to it, enjoying the energy of his previous one-on-one chats with Michael and hoping that his company could drown out the ever-crushing loneliness that was bound to hit Jake upon returning "home."

However, it was just Jake's luck that Jeremy happened to be discharged at the same time as him. And that Jake lived further from Michael's house than Jeremy, meaning Jake would be with _both_ of them the entire ride – but that was _fine_! Jake could handle it; it wasn't a big deal.

Or, at least, that was what he told Michael when the proposition came up.

"Great," Michael responded, and he smiled halfheartedly. "That's great."

Jake wondered, honestly, if Michael didn't want to be in the car with Jeremy, either. Or, maybe, he _did_ want to be with Jeremy— _and only Jeremy_ —and Jake was the one intruding.

But he didn't ask, and tried not to assume, and followed Michael out to the parking lot, giving Jeremy a blank greeting as he joined them in the lobby. He somewhat struggled to keep pace with the two of them, adapting to his new crutches, but luckily the now-familiar orange PT Cruiser was parked right near the hospital entrance.

"Jake gets shotgun," Michael told Jeremy once they reached the car, and a somewhat hurt expression found itself on Jeremy's face. Michael gave his shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze, and it went away.

Jake got in the car, Michael standing by in case he needed any help. (He didn't, but he thanked Michael anyway.) He situated his crutches into the small space between his seat and the window, finding the amount of legroom in the front seat surprising, if still a bit cramped due to Jake's stature.

Jake heard Michael's door close, and asked, "Does this go back any further?"

Michael shook his head no. "I already put it back all the way – figured you'd need the space."

"Oh," Jake's lip twitched upward, "Thanks."

Michael shrugged a shoulder and started the car. The radio turned on with it – some miscellaneous station playing the end of Eminem's " _Not Afraid_." In the rearview mirror, Jake saw Jeremy shift uncomfortably.

 _That was weird._ He thought Jeremy liked Eminem, if the amount of facts he had memorized was anything to go by. (Not "memorized," Jake reminded himself; his SQUIP had been giving him all of that information.) Jake even remembered Brooke telling him about how emotional Jeremy had gotten when the man had died, shortly after they'd started dating.

But, Jake ignored the thought, and the song faded out, cut short by a cringeworthy dubstep noise, then an ad for a car dealership.

Michael let out a short groan, flicking through stations.

"Don't you have an aux cord?" Jake asked.

"I don't even have a CD player."

"No way," Jake muttered under his breath, but, lo and behold, when he checked the car radio, it was vacant. Aside from the station controls and a single tape deck, that is. (Looking at it made Jake miss his Mustang.)

After several seconds, Michael landed on an oldies station, just as it faded out of " _House of the Rising Sun_ " and into " _Let It Be_ " by The Beatles.

Jake saw Michael smile and look at Jeremy through the rearview mirror. For a moment, his smile faltered, but he placed his eyes back on the road and it righted itself.

As the song continued, Jake eyes were fixated on Michael. The bags under his eyes had lessened since Jeremy had woken up, but not by much, though he seemed much more relaxed. The sunlight framed his face, almost giving off the impression that he was glowing. His eyes stayed on the road, while his hands loosely gripped the steering wheel, fingers tapping it in time with the song, as though he were playing the piano. Jake wondered if Michael played the piano. He didn't remember seeing a piano in Michael's house, but he supposed he may not have noticed it.

(There's a moment in there – just a moment – where Jake swore Michael locked eyes with him. Just as the guitar in the song picked up, like one of those cheesy movie moments. Michael had dark brown eyes, only slightly lighter than Jake's, and they were lighter around the edge of the iris. Jake wasn't sure he'd ever seen anyone with eyes like that, but before he could think on it further, the moment was over.)

Jake looked away, hand tracing the edge of the cracked leather seat, before he spoke. "So, like, you like the Beatles?"

"Who doesn't?" Michael responded.

Jake nodded, unwilling to admit that he'd never really listened to them. Although, he supposed, if Michael really liked them, then he'd give them a shot.

There was a pause, Jake thinking it over before asking, "Are the Beatles _punk_?" with a shit-eating grin across his face.

Michael let out a poorly stifled laugh – "Shut _up_!" – and Jake joined him. Michael had such a nice laugh; it was a lot like Christine's, Jake noticed. Low and soft and sweet and _contagious_. Even Jeremy, who definitely didn't get the joke, let out a chuckle from the back seat. Jake liked hearing Michael laugh; he liked making Michael laugh.

The energy was heightened just enough that nobody noticed that Michael had missed the exit to Jake's street. Or, maybe Jake had just tuned it out, wanting to live in the moment for just a bit longer. Wanting to spend a few extra seconds with Michael, before he had to go back to the condo, to be alone again.

He leaned back into the seat, the sound of fading laughter blending in with the soundtrack playing from the car radio.

_"And when the night is cloudy there is still a light that shines on me._

_Shine until tomorrow, let it be…"_


End file.
